How to Kill a Rainbow
by Shyanna
Summary: No one has ever erased the Dark Mark, no one, but a seventeen year old boy caught in the Maelstrom. Draco Malfoy has invoked the wrath of Lord Voldemort like none save Harry have done to date, and his last sanctuary is closing...
1. To Enjoy Your Position as Head Boy'

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_1: 'To enjoy your position as Head Boy...' _**

* * *

_'..snowflakes.'_

The word bounded about within his head. Images of winters flashed through his eyes as the tiny falling spectacles of wonder soared earthbound from the heavens, fluttering with each renewed gust of breath from the winds.

Glancing across the lands of his family's manor, his lips drew back in a small, almost nonexistent smile, and from his parted lips he blew a small gust of breath. His eyes danced in childlike glee at the wisps his own hair could create. The particles swirled and danced before him, evaporating in time to meld with the rest of eternity.

Reveling in the small moment of time in which his humanity was allowed to show, the Malfoy heir stood, chest heaving and cheeks pink from the white swirling phenomena around his opened balcony perch. However, the fleeting lapse of his youth and innocence was mechanically overtaken by his well-cultivated mask of hatred and revulsion when he spotted a tiny interloper in the distance. It was a tiny speck, looking as though it had wings drawn outwards, and as it drew closer, his icy grey eyes drew the outline of a message owler, and as it drew even nearer, he recognized it as one from Hogwarts.

He extended his hand to the bird which swayed away from the chilled railing lathered in white sparkles. Untying the message, he sent the bird away, neglecting to give it a nibble of food or so much as a word.

The envelope was heavy in his hands. Flipping it over and gently releasing the wax from its bounds, he retrieved the three sheets of paper which it contained. Scanning the first sheet, it told him he was requested at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a seventh year student.

The second was the normal books and equipment required for his lessons. His curiosity was piqued by the third, which adorned sparkling ink at its borders, each edge of the paper in a different house color.

The top was lathered in shimmering emerald, and as he gently scanned the paper, his eyes landed on the final words of the message, _'...to enjoy your position as Head Boy.'_

Releasing a sigh, he nearly dropped his facade, if only for that moment of brief explicit joy. He was going back, he would be safe for one more year.

_'Clever old man...clever'_

Draco let the message flutter to the frosted floor several stories beneath him, and pocketed the remaining two. He'd have to send an elf to Diagon Alley within the week.

_-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-_

Rushing around the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, a tiny elf, perhaps three feet in length, ran, nearly toppling over as the huge load in his tiny arms drug him down.

_'Why must master Malfoy have so many books to take?'_ the tiny elf mused, his load beginning to cut into his shoulder. The linen bag was meant to provide some measure of comfort, but after a day's worth of lugging the massive bulge, it proved to be more dangerous to him.

As if a bridge appeared to prevent his collapse, the elf felt the stinging sensation of his bruises leave him, and the weight of the bag was pulled away. Turning to see what had been done, the elf stared at a long robe, the faintest outline of knees bearing through.

A girl, no, woman, stared back down at him, her hand clasped around the mouth of his bag and looking down at him with a secure comfort shining. Her left hand held both the linen satchel and a slender wand, on her wrist shone a magnificent silver clasp with a small flower etching traveling its length.

The elf shook his head and reached upwards for the tiny bag, his tiny, outstretched fingers bringing beacons of light from her pools at his gesture. "Here you go, I've put a small enchantment on it, and it might not hurt you so bad for today."

The elf merely held his hands out, and the girl gently lowered it into his palms. "Perhaps your master ought to think more of his hands, your poor thing."  
The elf gasped and released a hiss at the woman, "You must never talk that way about the Malfoy master! He is more powerful then she thinks she will ever be!"

The light in the woman's eyes died away, and was replaced with an intense stare of loathing. "Malfoy...hah. I should have known the ignorant git was too lazy to come collect his things, spoiled prat!" Her hiss was low, only audible to the elf. Just as much, he shrieked back at her, his tiny hands wrapped protectively over his linen bag of school supplies.

"You keep your mouth clean of master Malfoy's name! She is not worthy of his attention, she is a stupid witch who only wants to be as powerful as master Malfoy!"

The woman laughed, and patted the elf on his head, her fingertips lightly brushing him before he pulled away as if burned, "Tell 'master Malfoy', that it was Granger that saved his elf from his torment."

The elf bared his yellow teeth at the woman, and stalked away, his mind already forgetting the witch and scurrying about at the time lost. "Must do as the master Malfoy orders!" He squeaked, bounding into an apothecarium store, drawing a wrinkled list of ingredients from his pockets as he entered.

Hermione stood in the street, staring after the elf and scowling at his retreating backside.

"Master Malfoy my ass." She humph-ed and stalked away.

_-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-_

Pacing the lengths of his room, Draco found himself loathing the clock mounted above his cold and large dresser. Its inky appearance matched the rest of his hollow space. Black. Empty. No emotion bearing through. He abruptly shook his head as if to chase the thoughts away.

"Master Malfoy, it is time to go!" A small elf appeared with a crack and squeaked at his pacing backside. Draco cringed inwardly.

_'Here's to nothing. Can't hide forever...this year is going to be...fun...'_

He turned to the elf, his face undecipherable as he stalked past it, waving his hand in a swift motion to retrieve his school items, and began the descent down the stairs to the first level of his home.

Around his home, his mother had placed an enchantment. A permanent winter scheme she had devised. The snowfall was a beautiful enticement to those foolishly trusting wizards, and a grand cover for those Aurors who tried to invade their privacy. The snow left footprints and revealed if any 'spies' from the Ministry had come to visit them. The Malfoys themselves had a spell cast atop their shoes, and the snow did not so much as ruffle when they trekked through the white glitter.

How much he hated her. His mother.

Traveling through the conjured winds, he stepped across the border of the swirling flakes, and into reality. The heat of summer bore down immediately upon his chilled skin, giving him a sickening feeling at the sudden and drastic change in temperature.

Draco walked towards the small garden decoration that served as a portkey to the muggle-run train station and waited impatiently for his elf to appear. As she did, he grabbed his luggage from her, and gripped the key roughly.

The sensation of being pulled through space took place, and as usual, when it was over, he was quite displeased with the fluffing of his silver locks. Patting them down lightly, he placed his things in a nearby buggy, and began the walk towards the platform unbeknownst to the fact that this year would not be quite what he expected.

_-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-_

Setting his things in a rack provided far above his head, Draco shoved the remnants of his cloak to the side and nestled himself in the seat opposite his luggage.

The compartment he was in was completely empty, save for a toad. He rolled his eyes as he recognized the disgusting creature. There was only one person who could lose the blasted animal so often it was wrong when he wasn't lost.

No sooner than his mind ticked away such information, the door slid open to reveal a much more mature-faced Neville Longbottom. His eyes scanned the compartment quickly for his lost pet; it was evident that he didn't want to be there. "H..h..hello Draco...You haven't happened to of seen Tre-- "

Draco hissed and inclined his head with a sharp jerk towards the opposite corner, cutting Neville off mid-sentence along with a merry 'croak' the toad let itself escape.

Neville grinned brightly even though his apprehension was still apparent, and bent down to scoop his toad in his arms. Yet no sooner than he clasped one hand around the toad did it jump from the seat, and bound away again. Draco laughed inwardly at the scene, though his face revealed that of disgust.

_'Stupid kid...'_

Glaring at Neville as if he owed him a debt, he hissed out a quick "Shut the damn door!" and swept his black robes across his body, nestling himself once again into the corner of his train compartment.

Yet he was not to be left alone on this train ride.

Only a few moments later the compartment door was slid open to reveal a man in billowing crimson robes clasped around his neck and extending to his ankles. Draco suppressed a stark guffaw at the man's meant-to-be-noble attire, however he spoke before Draco could even muster the strength not to laugh.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy, my name is Beetledung--not to be confused with animal droppings. I am the conductor of this system, and your presence has been requested in the Prefects' compartment. You are to meet your fellow Head Girl, and the other prefects. Please refrain from being tardy."

With that he left, his golden robe leaving a streak in Draco's unfocused eyes.

"Beetledung..." He whispered, laughing softly to himself at the man's unfortunate name.

Gathering his black robes as to not trip while he stood, he slid the door to his compartment open, and meandered up to the second compartment of the train. Sliding the door open quietly, the jovial noises he had heard from outside the room fell as the Slytherin prince entered.

A few girls held obvious red streaks across their cheeks as he glanced at each of them individually, their eyes dancing as they looked him over. Even through his billowy robes, one could detect the physique long hours of quidditch had given him.

He however, had a genuine mask of utter disgust, as did the one he was staring at when their eyes met.

"Granger," he spat, knowing well that she was not a prefect at all, but the Head Girl. She sneered back at him, contempt riddled across her usually soft features.

"Malfoy."

He smirked at her, "I'm pleased you remember my name, Mudblood. It will soon be a household term." Hermione growled, her eyes sparkling in utter rage. "I'm sure Malfoy, who could forget the name of a Death Eater tradition?"

Draco sneered at her, his stomach churning inside, though he allowed nothing but hate to seethe from him. "Watch yourself scum, the Ministry may have my parents under seige, but I am still here to deal with any...threats."

Hermione scowled at him, her hand drifting towards her wand that was concealed in the depths of her robes. Draco as well, was sifting through the folds of his attire to find his own. However they were interrupted when a glimmering sphere appeared in the center of the compartment.

The students stared at it, their eyes widening as it grew to the size of a towering witch, though it seemed like a friendly one. As if through the silver strands of the pensieve, the Prefects and Heads sat gazing at the likes of Minerva McGonagall, their new headmaster. Her stoic features sat tight across her face, though her eyes betrayed her, showing weariness and sadness.

"Welcome students. I'm sure you're all aware of your current positions and what you are expected to carry out as you assume your new roles at Hogwarts. If you'll kindly pull out your letters, you'll find they've been updated to reveal your first tasks. These will continue to be updated as the year progresses. In the case of an emergency, the tasks assigned to you will be printed in red. I'd advise you all to keep them on you at all times should you need further instruction in your current duties."

Draco groaned, remembering his release of the letter. It would now be lying still on the snow-covered grounds of his manor, if it had not been blown away that is. As he mused, the image of professor McGonagall continued on, giving the assigned rooms and passwords for each dormitory housing. As she neared the closure, her words became crisper.

"As you all know, last year we suffered a terrible tragedy: the loss of our beloved headmaster Albus Dumbledore to the likes of the Dark Lord and his allies." Here her eyes flickered to Malfoy alone before continuing on.

"This year we have entirely new regulations in order, and I will serve as your new headmaster. Though it pains me to take over the school in the light of such a horrific event, we must continue on in the traditions of our magnificent school and our ancestors. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will not fall to the bastions of those who wish to take away from us what we have worked so valiantly to achieve."

She paused quietly as the memory of her beloved friend's death flashed briefly in her mind before continuing on, pushing the torment that had swelled within her during the summer months away.

"Argus Filch has implemented entirely new additions to the schools security. With the aid of some well-loved former students of Hogwarts, all known entries to the school have been securely closed. Powerful hexes and spells have been placed on them in order to protect the students of Hogwarts.

"Every nook and cranny, so much as that of a rat hole has been cleanly sealed off. The only way into the school is through the front doors, which are to remain sealed unless directed by a member of the teacher staff, your Head Boy or Girl, or during class hours for Care of Magical Creatures classes and Quidditch games.

"Quidditch practice sessions will be closely monitored by a group of staff members and both Heads."

'Head Boy?'

"The Astronomy towers have been closed. Divination classes have been moved to the second floor corridor, as well as those of actual Astronomy. You will continue your courses of said classes through the use of magically-instated phenomena usually witnessed in the night skies."

Hermione stirred at these words, as well as a few other students who had a lingering interest in the centaur that taught the classes as of late. After the incident with Umbridge, Hermione had wielded a powerful curiosity as to what occured to cause the woman to break, and she felt a strong surge of gratitude towards them for it.

_'I wonder if he knows what happened?'_

"As a final word to you, dear students, please, in all manners of sincerity, watch yourselves this year. Don't dabble in anything that could bring harm to you or your classmates. The Dark Lord has returned, and we know not when he may strike again. Now, I kindly ask the prefects to return to their compartments so that I may distribute the word of the Head dormitory, and speak with them privately."

A brief moment of shuffling took place as the prefects took their leave, casting the forlorn image of their new headmaster looks of sympathy and kindness, a few even throwing Draco rude gestures and disgusted looks.

He kept a solemn face however, and when he and Hermione were alone in the room with the shimmering image of McGonagall, she spoke once again. The tiredness breaking through in waves as she talked.

"The entry to your dormitories is through the first floor passage, to the left of the grand staircase, located behind a bust of the first Minister of Magic. The password is 'Faith.'" She spoke the word as if it were bitter, and sunk into the recesses of her leather covered chair.

"To the both of you, I speak with utmost urgency and importance. We are living in dangerous times, no one is safe, and no one is to be trusted but those within your utmost inner circles. Do not let your minds trick or deceive you into believing otherwise. As it stands, Hogwarts itself is nearing a collapse if we cannot pick up the pieces of our lives, and quickly.

It lies in your hands to keep the student body calm and informed, on a day-to-day basis. You have both been picked as Heads because of the abilities you enact, Ms. Granger, your knowledge of the arts are essential to keep the students body spirit lifted. Show them your kindness and help in their times of need. Mr. Malfoy...I honestly cannot conceive a thought as to why Albus felt you should be Head Boy this year, outside of your family name. The Malfoy is a powerful clan, and I suppose your word will outweigh others should the time arise and we need to rally support."

She looked suspiciously at him here, but continued on otherwise. "You certainly carry yourself in such a fashion that would demand...respect...from your peers." She was all but inaudible as the word slipped out, picking up the strength in her voice for the remainder of her sentence.

Draco laughed inside, a violent, insane laugh.

"We are counting on both of you to set aside your differences, in favor of something much more important to our world. Do not let me down. That is all."

With that, the shimmering form of their headmistress dissipated, leaving them alone. Hermione was the first to break the silence.

"Great. My final year was supposed to be grand, beautiful even. Instead I have to spend it with you."

Draco scowled at her, his eyes emitting coldness. "You act is if I requested to have share a dormitory with filth."

She slammed her foot down on the train floor, standing to face him. "Malfoy you are the most disgusting, loathsome, no good piece of shit I've ever encountered!" Her shriek was loud, and no doubt students in the corridor hall heard her.

_'Good, let them hear!'_

"I'm glad you can come up with such a wide variety of words, Granger. When the Dark Lord gets done with you, however, you won't be able to utter a single syllable," he hissed back, feeling pleased at how her face drained of color as the words escaped from his lips.

"So then you admit to having ties to the Dark Lord, eh Malfoy?" she whispered back, drawing herself back to a position of certainty.

"I admit to nothing, Mudblood. However, it is common knowledge that he'll go after the muggle-born scum first, and you'll be one of them." The venom dripped from his lips, and his eyes burned intensely at her.

She withdrew from him, settling down on the seat, choosing to muse over her own thoughts than to continue their battle of heated hatred. Draco saved her one last look of disgust and returned to the compartment he left earlier. Finding that it was still empty, he curled into a small ball, and drifted to sleep for the remainder of their journey.

* * *

_A/N: This is yet another story originally posted on HPFF, however this one was abandoned for a while, so I'm going to attempt to breathe some life into it again... I really need to stop, four heavily chaptered fics equal a bloody, gory death. T.T Anyhow, this is also what my work looks like when I have a BETA._

_ & shows love to the almighty BETA readers &_

_ On a side-note this story, if it's ever finished, is due for a rewrite. My writing style has vaguely shifted since I began this piece, so forgive any inconsistencies in the later chapters compared to the ones early on. _


	2. Mobilicorpus Malfoy

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_2: Mobilicorpus Malfoy _**

* * *

****

With a shuttering halt the Hogwarts Express came to a stop, and the doors slid open. Tumbling from them were the bodies of excited and nervous first years, the superior second years, bored fifth years, the lazy seventh years, and all in between.

As part of their duties, Hermione and Draco had to remain aboard the train, making sure each soul was safely on their way to the castle before the train departed. Lucky for him, she mentioned this before leaving in a huff. He'd have simply walked off with everyone else, abandoning his duties quite by accident on his first night back.

He stumbled upon 'that nasty toad' once again while patrolling the corridors. Debating whether to blast into oblivion or throw it under the deadly wheels of the train, he paused momentarily. But before he could act, it was saved by Hermione, who seemed to have guessed Draco's thoughts as she quickly scooped it up and took off with it nestled safely in the crook of her arm.

Satisfied with his pass, Draco ambled off the train platform. He seated himself in the last carriage, already containing an impatient Hermione. Their ride was silent, the bumps and dips in the path causing them to both jolt softly. In some more severe cases, Hermione's hair bounced causally, glinting when the shadows were bounced about, Draco took notice.

Arriving at the front gates, the two departed from the black carriage on either ends, taking avid care to stay far from the other. They walked towards the front doors, which were massive and tall; they stood determined, though each unsure how to open them.

"Open!" Hermione commanded, and together they stood in the darkness, not the slightest of movements could be detected. She sighed and drew back, looking to Draco for an answer. He scowled at her, as if to dare her intelligence. "I command you to open!" He growled at the solid force, and, it moved, with all the force it gave Hermione.

Sniffing contemptuously at his defeat, Hermione returned his look of incompetence and drew her wand. Plucking her letter of Head Leadership from her robes, she muttered "Lumos," and scanned the paper. At the very bottom, in small green letters, was printed a sentence.

"No harm shall pass from me."

The doors creaked open slightly, allowing a gap wide enough for two or so people to pass through at a time, and both of them rushed in. It was too late to go to the feast, and neither of them was particularly hungry. Instead they sauntered off to the left of the grand staircase, turning and going up small ramps as they twisted their way through corridors until they stood before the large canvas that portrayed only the head of the first ever instated Minister of Magic.

"Faith." Hermione muttered.

The portrait beamed at her, "Indeed you shall have! It is what will keep us alive during these times!" However, she paid little attention and climbed into the hole, Draco close in tow.

The room they found themselves in was decorated in lavish things of all houses, though in no separate categorization. A Hufflepuff lamp shade lay atop a Gryffindor insignia table, both of which were on a Slytherin rug. The entire room was decorated as such, and at either ends of the room stood a door. One bore the mark of Slytherin, the other the mark of Gryffindor.

"Guess we're spared fighting over rooms." Hermione muttered. Draco merely scoffed at her and started to his door. He opened the door slightly and peered inside. Hermione followed suit.

In Hermione's room, there stood in the center a massive king-sized bed. Extravagantly lavished in gold and crimson comforters, it had enough pillows for the entirety of her normal dormitory to sleep upon. There was a large oak vanity dresser that stood opposite the door. Placed on its surface was an assortment of products, magical- and muggle-produced alike. Her trunk, as usual, was placed at the foot of her bed, and Crookshanks was snoozing peacefully atop the lumpiest pillow in the bunch.

Overwhelmed by the size and opulence of her room, she spied yet another door. She curiously opened it to reveal a beautiful bathroom more than half the size of her sleeping quarters. Its center bore a huge pink marble bathtub. All around its edges were countless golden taps, each with a different jewel set in its handle. The water was pleasantly warm to the touch, and bubbles were popping continuously in its depths. Hermione suspected that the bubbles would never recede and the water would never cool nor evaporate. She smiled at her new home, and returned to her bed, beginning to sort out her clothing, school necessities, and other accessories.

Draco's was similar, though his bed was covered in emerald and silver linings, and his pillows all bore velvety insignias of the Slytherin house. His dressers were also oaken and were adorned with silver and emerald embellishing. The mirror in the room was full length and had a frame made of pure silver. Venturing into the bathroom, he found a vast Jade tub in the center. As with Hermione's, it was opted to his preferable bathing temperatures, and the bubbles were luscious and abundant. Soft fluffy towels were piled in a basket in the corner; shampoo and such on separate racks. It was just like home, only...warmer. Much warmer.  
The carpets were plush and warming to his feet; the blankets were thick and warm. He shook his head to focus himself, and began to throw his things into their proper drawers and compartments.

The door slid open with a faint squeak, and Hermione stepped out of her room. Garbed in a silk shirt and pajama pants, topped over with her Hogwarts robes, she was anything but a fashion statement. Not that it mattered, she was going somewhere her attire wouldn't judge her, if anything, it'd make her more welcome.

Her destination? The Gryffindor common room.

Pocketing her wand, she walked quietly to the backside of the Minister, and pushed lightly. She quickly waved back behind her as the portrait bade her farewell, and sprinted down the corridors and up the grand staircase. After a series of twists and hallways, she arrived, slightly breathless, before the Fat Lady.

The robust woman smiled at her in recognition, and gasped when she seen the glittering badge on her breast. "Head Girl!" Her smile was bright and sincere, as she rambled on. "I was wondering where that familiar head of hair was! Congratulations on making Head Girl, though I fear this year it may a bit more then pleasure and fun."

Hermione nodded at the woman, "We've been informed of our duties via our letters, and they were very different from the normal regal."

The painting sighed at her in dismay, and then drew her self back up, a smile prancing her face once again. "Well then, on with it! I know young Mr. Potter and Weasley will be waiting for you."

Hermione giggled and spoke "Bottie's Beans!" The woman laughed, muttering something about distressful beans and severe stomach aches only to be relieved in a single fashion. Hermione let out a small laugh and ignored the rest of her personal sentence, climbing into the hole of the Gryffindor common room.

"'Mione!" A familiar voice shrieked out, and she was tackled by a streak of red and black. Sprawled across her lay Ginny Weasley, her robes plastered across Hermione's face, and her hair in a more devastating mess. However, Hermione was not to be released, as two more shouts of nicknames resounded in the otherwise empty common room. A pair of strong arms clasped themselves around her waist, pulling her perhaps halfway up, while a separate set took hold of both her hands and pulled her back towards the ground, effectively toppling the group.

In a giggling fit, the four of them lay tangled in a mess of extremities and torsos, their school robes tossed about in odd orders and the pajamas hanging off loosely at angles. "This reminds me of a game the muggles play." Hermione giggled out, her face bright pink with intense laughter, "It's called Twister, and you usually end up in a very similar pile of people."

Ginny laughed, and squeaked out, "I'll have to play that sometime!" before attempting to remove herself from her friends. Harry lay underneath Hermione, his hands still gripping hers as he was the one who had pulled them all down. His glasses were sent flying, landing several feet away from the tangle of beings safely. He was laughing the hardest, as he was now serving as a rug to his three companions.

Ron was pinned down across Hermione's chest, his arms trapped around her waist and against Harry's stomach. Ginny escaped freely, laughing at her brother's predicament.

"Ron! Stop feeling on Harry!" she squealed, laughing as his face turned redder...and redder...  
Harry laughed and wiggled a bit, tickling Hermione in the process, sending her into a fit of fresh giggles. She threw her arms out, punching Ron in the face quite by accident, and in turn causing the boy beneath her to burst into laughter all over again. Ron's eyes watered as his nose began to throb lightly, and his face turned redder still.

Ginny doubled over in laughter, holding her sides in slight agony. Eventually the laughter died down, and Ginny ambled over to her brother, gently pulling one arm out from beneath Hermione so he could free himself.

"Bloody hell, I think you broke my nose Hermione!" he cried out, his voice rising in pitch as he spoke her name. Hermione only laughed, pulling herself up from Harry, who was now squished into the Gryffindor floor.

After several moments of tending to Ron and making sure Harry's organs had indeed, been spared of any squashing, the four sat around the fireplace, merriment sparkling in their eyes at their first night back to Hogwarts.

"So, Hermione, tell us about the Head common room? And who's the Head Boy? I thought for sure it'd be Harry, or at least Ron!" Ginny spoke softly, laughter an undertone as she spoke.

Hermione shook her head, "The Head house is beautiful! Oh Ginny, I wish you'd come visit me after lessons one day. I've got this _huge_ bed with so many pillows I could sleep the house-elves at Hogwarts on one pillow each! And this _gorgeous_ vanity table, it was even complete with products when I came in. Oh! And the bathtub! Ginny you really must come see, it's so big! Pink marble in fact!" she rambled on, describing every minor detail of her bathroom, bedroom, and closets.

All was cheery, until one of her friends asked, "Who's Head Boy?"

Her smile died away, replaced by a look of loathing and depression as she mumbled, "Malfoy."

"WHAT?!" Was the universal response, and the three merely gawked at her.

"How did Malfoy become Head Boy? Is McGonagall out of her mind?!" Ron shrieked, very displeased that his friend would have to live the remaining year at Hogwarts with none other than _the ferret._

"Well, I'd agree with you, only McGonagall didn't choose Malfoy. Dumbledore did." Her statement was ensued by utter silence, broken by a meek, "What?"

"Hermione, how could Dumbledore have of...appointed Malfoy? He's de--"

Hermione interrupted, rather quickly. "Head Boy and Girl are chosen before the end of terms every year. Malfoy and I were already chosen before the...incident..."

"Well isn't that a bit of rotten luck." Ron humph-ed out, thinking what the others were also thinking. The question was resonating in their minds:

_'Why Malfoy?'_

No one noticed that Harry didn't quite meet their eyes with his plastered blank stare of confusion.

Several weeks passed with little incident between them. Several miserable, meandering weeks of solitude and utter loneliness for Hermione. Harry and Ron were so wrapped in the Horcrux problems and other horrible life-endangering feats; it made her gut turn just to think of them. Her heroic friends, off risking their lives for the world.

She would kill to be with them through all their expeditions, but they had firmly told her to stay at the castle. She had her N.E.W.T.s to prepare for and whatever other insane educational opportunity she'd apply for, they'd told her, refusing to even let her get a word in edge-wise. So she'd relented...and for near an entire week she'd sat alone at the Gryffindor table. It seemed Ginny had temporarily replaced Hermione, as she was off with the boys.

It didn't matter that Ginny was with them, what mattered was she _missed all three_ of them. Her closest companions were out, risking their lives for the sake of the world, while she stayed in the security of Hogwarts and studied. For the first time in her life, Hermione hung her head at her work, ashamed, even for a brief moment that her life revolved so much around her studies. For a moment.

Because soon after she'd pulled her bag to her and withdrawn a fairly dense piece on rune deciphering, she delved into it. If she was going to be left behind so she could study, she might as well ace that exam.

As the days passed Hermione found that she was craving the boys' company more and more, and she hated it. She shouldn't have to want to see her best friends; she should have been able to go visit them whenever she pleased. She'd even run to McGonagall--begging her--whatever their mission was to let her go; let her go and make sure her _brothers_ were ok!

But McGonagall had only given her a sad smile, and told her that they would return in roughly a week's time. Sending someone in after them would only endanger the boys; possibly creating a trail to them, putting all their lives at risk. An unnecessary risk. Hermione had nodded in agreement silently, wandered out of her office, head hung, and meandered to the banks of the lake, nestling herself against a nearby tree.

She'd cried that day. She's sobbed and hiccupped and wanted to scream at the world for taking her friends from her on a whim's notice. The headmistress had said her chasing them down would only endanger them, more the likely that meant they were already in danger and if they had to take care of one more it'd only complicate things. She huffed, and hurtled a small rock that lay by her into the depths of the lake, radiating anger and hurt.

He'd been quiet and withdrawn ever since his arrival. They'd spoken perhaps two words, consisting all of _'Fuck off,_' since they had stepped through the portrait together.

Stepping into the Heads room now, she looked about. Malfoy was no where to be found. Dropping her armload of books onto the floor in the middle of the common room, she rummaged through them, searching for the one she'd been keen to look at specifically.

_'Wizards and Witches through the Centuries'_

What fascinated her about the book was that it was so utterly _thin._ It said through the centuries. The book should not be a book at all; it should be a vast and enormous collaboration of volumes, exceeding that of anything she'd ever encountered. The book had its listing in chronological order, and started with the most primitive forms of magic. A witch, though she did not know that, was the first to record anything of the like, dating back into the Wizarding age of_chronosaelpha._

_'Obviously some sort of first time...something...'_

She mused to herself, never really bothering before hand to think that the Wizarding world had actually named the ages of time. Or at least, they had set stages in which to categorize them. It described the likes of a witch, her name and heritage unknown, drawing--much as the first muggles had done--on the walls of caves. These drawings, though, were never to be found by muggles as they now had a magical enchantment about them, and allowed only magically-imbued persons in them, the book added hastly.

_'Hastly?'_

Of course, she was merely losing her mind, perhaps she'd finally broken the point in which she read too much. She was reading a book that had been printed before her grandparents' grandparents were conceived; of course nothing was added to it. Shaking her head, she continued on, reading about the drawings. She turned the page to find a large, image of the wall the article was describing. It depicted a most primitive form of art, though it miraculously conveyed the likes of an aura of sorts around the shape of something human-like. When she'd flipped the page, she had been wondering if it would show her a picture that would more clearly define what it was the woman had done.

_'Hmm, well Hermione, you've finally figured out how to read books!'_ She laughed outright at her terrible paradox, and continued reading, the book continuously offering answers to the questions that popped into her head. At the end her reading session, she'd found the book exhilarating. This was the first book, in her vast collective memory of them, which had not left her jumbled over with more questions that the author had failed to note. And as she slid a clean quill between the pages to save her space, she found, after so many of hours of reading, she had not _nicked_ the volume of the book.

'Interesting...'

However, her musing was cut short as behind her came a terrible _crash_, and ensued the likes of Draco Malfoy. His robes were torn and..._bloodied?_ Beneath his robes lie the shreds of what used to be stylish male clothing; his shirt now lie in mangled shreds, and beneath that it seemed his flesh was in the same state.

"Malfoy?!" she shrieked, tossing her new-found love to the side and bounding to her feet. He had not noticed her presence, and when she'd made herself known he'd coiled back, viciously. His grey eyes were lightly iced over, and his face was no better then the rest of his body: bloodied and in a severe state of pain it would seem. The entire left sleeve of his attire had been ripped away, and sitting on his bicep sat the mark of evil, staring her in the face, its snake-like-tongue seeming to wag at her in amusement.

Though this mark looked different...it was...it looked as if something had tried to bite it off...only from the inside out.

"Get out of here, wench," he whispered, his voice husky and unyielding, but Hermione was keen to that strain after so many adventures with her boys: he was in pain.

She backed away, eyeing the hatred on his arm wearily. "I said get out of here!" he hissed out, his chest racking in agony and drawing in the straggly little breaths it could without seeming to burst.

Shaking her head, she rushed forward. She was a Gryffindor after all; it was time she stood aside Harry and Ron in their quest for the nobles. Helping a Slytherin would hardly be the place to start, a Death-Eater-son-of-Lucious-Malfoy-with-the-dark-mark-already-burned-into-his-flesh-enemy-of-her-beloved-friends-Slytherin, but her heart pulled at her thought process, and in his state of agony, she felt hard-pressed to leave him.

Stepping towards him lightly, she bent down at his right side, keeping her line of sight cleanly away from his left side, if she seen that mark she was sure she'd drop him and feel the insatiable urge to kick him in the face.

He hissed as she touched him. He strained against some invisible pull, and when he turned to look at her his eyes were...black. Hermione gasped and drew back, and his pools faded back into grey, something was wrong. So very, very wrong. She ran from him, terrified, and her stomach churning as his eyes stayed locked in her memory. She crashed into her room as he unleashed a low moan, agony embedded in its very fibers.

She slammed the door behind her. God was she was terrified. It made so little sense to her; she couldn't decide what to do. She ran to her bed, intending on throwing a pillow over each side of her face and drowning out his voice, but as she reached for one her Head letter fell from the window sill, she snatched at it, trying to put it back in its place in her panicky state, glancing at it, she stopped.

_Help him._

The words were in crimson, staring at her in urgency and authority. McGonagall's words rang in her ears, and she bolted to her bedroom door. Terrified or not, her will to be an example drove her back to him, and she collapsed at his side. He was out, whatever was tormenting him had left him for the time being, or perhaps it had simply been too much. Regardless, he was still, and she needn't worry about those terrible eyes.

Shaking, she placed a hand on his forehead, withdrawing it as fast as she'd slowly put it down. He was on fire. Yet he hadn't turned those vicious eyes on her, he was gone to the world for the time being. Slipping an arm beneath his head, she hoisted him up, blood spilling down his arm and backside, dripping in silent pools beneath his body. Hermione was absolutely terrified.

This was her arch enemy, but his blood spilling brought tears to the rim of her eyes. She had no desire to watch someone else die, just the thought of _death_ made her cringe.

Drawing on a reservoir only a woman's passion could muster, she yanked him up, clamoring to her feet and dragging him with her.

Her first thought was the hospital wing, but for a moment her vision flashed green, and that damned book shook her thoughts. In the back of her mind a tiny little voice meekly whispered to her, the dark mark. She rolled her eyes and hoisted him up again, trying to adjust his weight so she wouldn't die of exhaustion on the way._ 'It'd serve him right!'_ But then, even in her despair and hurt at losing Dumbledore, she remember him saying something about second chances...Snape was a traitor, but maybe Malfoy still had a part to play, there was no way Dumbledore had overlooked him.

She was unsure of where to go, nearly positive Pomfrey would die of a heart attack if she seen what was pasted to his arm.

So she ran, hoping her feet would take her somewhere she could get him help, past Dumbledore's office. Whoever occupied it, it would always be her beloved Headmasters place. She didn't stop, not thinking about McGonagall, she ran until she reached the kitchen, where she skidded to a halt.

_'What the hell am I doing here?!' _

In her seventh year she'd gotten lost at Hogwarts? Oh the irony.

But instead her head snapped to the right, and she knew what she was doing here. Briefly, the front cover of the book came into mind, but was drowned back into the depths by her immediate state of panic. She took off again, her breath labored and painful from bearing Malfoy's dead weight. She dropped him where she stood, and paced before the entrance.

Grabbing roughly at his arm, she dragged him into the Room of Requirement. She didn't even bother to awe at the massively sterile room and what should have been the Hogwarts Hospital wing. Lining it's walls were shelves and more shelves, bookcases, concoctions, potions, salms, balms, ointments, and a stock of supplies that Snape, had he not been the traitorous git he was, would have slobbered at.

She wasted no time, and shrieked out a panicked, "Mobilicorpus Malfoy!"

Slapping herself mentally for dragging herself down so bad when she could have simply done that, she placed him on the bed in the far corner of the room, and slammed the door shut.


	3. Indecision Spiced with Terror

_**How to Kill a Rainbow** _

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_3: Indecision Spiced with Terror _**

* * *

****

She had labored over him the night through.

His breathing had been so faint and irregular; she'd even thought he had flat out died on her at one point. Though the coldness of his skin was alarming to the touch, his forehead was an absolute fit of blazing temperature. Her muggle first aid instincts told her he didn't stand a chance. There was no way he could be so cold and so hot at the same time, unless he was in shock and dying.

On the other hand, her witching ways told her that it didn't matter if it was impossible because, well, it was happening, and he was still alive, meaning he still had a fighting chance. And so she spent all eight hours of the night, hovering between books and Draco, always wondering in the back of her mind why she didn't just lug him down to the Hospital Wing, regardless of Pomfrey's response.

Regardless of the fact that a comatose boy was in front of her, she also found her thoughts racing to that odd book she'd acquired that afternoon, but then again, it was five A.M. She'd been awake for twenty three hours now; the slightest thing could leap into her thought process and hold substantial meaning.

Settling herself down on the small stool she had placed next to the sleeping Malfoy, she laid her head on the mattress, her face facing the back of Malfoy's head.

_'What the hell is wrong with me? I should have let this arrogant prick to die.'_

Her thoughts were mixed: she was furious and depressed. She let herself settle with the excuse that fatigue was settling in and overwhelming her, drifting off into a quiet but fitful sleep.

Her dreams consisted of Draco. In every one of them, the blonde ferret king had appeared, his sneer mocking her from behind grey eyes that bore into her own. In one, he had morphed into something of a snake and wrapped his disgusting form around her throat, squeezing tightly until her world went black, after which she dreamt no longer.

The thin white sheet wrinkled noiselessly as he moved, his fever had long since left him, though his left arm burned with all of hells fury. Grimacing inwardly at the pain that shot up his arm at the slightest movement, he blearily lifted his lids, staring up at a tan ceiling.

'Must have redecorated the hospital wing,' he mused, closing his eyes again before turning to his right, extending a hand to push himself up into a sitting position.

What he touched wasn't a sheet however, it was...a face!

"Shit!"

He shrieked, mechanically moving his arm back; leaving his left arm to deepen into the mattress he was lying on, causing pain to sear up its lengths and into his neck, making him whimper and his chest to heave a bit whilst trying to keep the pain in check.

Hermione's slumber was broken by his touch; her body was carried by the motion of her head snapping up and caused her to topple backwards onto the floor, the stool still beneath her.

"Argh!" Her hair spilling about her and a loud thump resounding through the room when she landed. "Shut up Malfoy!" She shrieked, rubbing her head and back, and climbing slowly to her feet.

"Granger?! What the hell are you doing here?!" Draco felt as though something was choking him, and he clung to his left arm like a death grip.

"I don't know what I'm doing here, you stupid twit. I should have left you to die!" She sneered back, grabbing the silver backing of the stool and flinging it across the room, listening to the satisfying destruction of glassed ingredients on the opposite end.

Draco's silvery eyes bugged as he stared at her seething features. "Die?" A pause ensued, _"What the hell did you see?"_ He yelled, suddenly struggling with the blanket atop him and rushing at her as soon as he got to his feet. Hermione squealed and backed away, her wand drawn and her left hand curled into a fist. "You arrogant prat! I try to help you and you try to attack me? A lot of good you're worth!"

Draco ignored her and her wand, and advanced, his eyes burning with anger. "What. Did. You. See." His nostrils all but emitted fire as he slowly but crisply pronounced each word.

"I've seen enough to know you're a disgusting, worthless Death Eater!" she screamed, pointing at his exposed left arm. The shredded remains of his clothing still lingered from the night before, and though it was now wrapped in white bandages, a large dot of blood was expanding the girth, where the mark sat beneath his robes.

He stopped moving for a moment, his eyes glazed over and his mouth drawn into some form of a statuesque expression. Breaking the moment as quickly as it started, he jumped at her, attempted to knock her wand from her hand, and succeeded. _'Note to self: ban Quidditch practice for suspected Death Eaters'_, Hermione thought.

With a tiny clatter the thin piece of wood fell to the floor, and Draco advanced, pushing her onto the wall behind her. His face was contorted in so much fury; it felt vaguely familiar to Hermione. Where had she seen that expression? Momentarily pushing those thoughts away, she retaliated as hard as she could; his leg gave out slightly as she tried to make her way around him. She succeeded, partially.

He caught her when she had her back to him. He wrapped his right arm around her throat, and pulled her against him forcefully. Hermione cried out hoarsely, her voice caught in her crushed wind pipe.

"Melfoi lemme gho!"

Her voice was strained, but he refused to release her, squeezing harder and harder until tiny dots blurred her vision.

_'Heh...I remember this dream'_, she mused softly as her sight began to die; blackness engulfing her consciousness until she was hung limply from his grasp. Draco was panting heavily as he choked her, furious that the little bitch had discovered him so easily, and even more livid at the fact that he had allowed _them_ to do this to him.

Realizing she was no longer talking, he assumed she'd given in. He loosened his grip, and she fell right through the nook he'd held her in, and fell to the floor with a sickening _bang_, her head bouncing once before she lie still.

"Ah, damn it all!" He roared, his grey eyes taking on a metallic look as he glared at her still figure. "Get up, mudblood!" He kicked the small of her back as hard as he could, causing her body to move a few inches from the force of it.

She didn't even stir at the impact; her hair was swirled around her face from the force of her fall, and her robes thrown about in a similar fashion. "Granger, I said _get up._" He hissed, his eyes bore into her cheekbone as he stared intently at her. Stomping across the room, he searched the shelves, cupboards, and everything in between for a glimpse of his wand. The blasted thing was no where to be seen; he must've lost it when he'd been with the group last night, but why would they take his wand?

Unless Granger had it.

Turning on her again, he threw himself on the floor next to her, throwing her robes open to search them. He found a small black bag, a small crumpled piece of paper, and two tiny fragments of precious gems: silver entwined around the sapphires and looping back to form hoop earrings, miniscule pieces of the deep blue forming a weight at the center bottom piece.

Staring at the pieces for a few moments, he wondered briefly why he'd never seen her wearing them; they were beautiful. But he tossed the idea to the side; such beauty shouldn't be wasted on a mudblood. He pocketed the earrings, and opened her wallet, his eyes landing on a picture—it wasn't moving; muggle taken no doubt—of Granger and two others, her parents, most likely.

Flipping its plastic encasing over, he saw various still images of Hermione at different ages, and her parents, friends, and assorted family members. He scoffed at her pettiness to even carry such things around as he turned the wallet over, digging through its pockets, pulling out only a few galleons and two knuts. He tossed the coin towards her limp body in disgust and continued his search, turning up nothing of importance to him. Finally, he unraveled a piece of parchment hidden in the depths of her robe. _Wizards and Witches Through the Centuries_, it said, and beneath it, there was no acclaimed author, only a tiny number: 5; 23. Together with the parchment was a lingering list of other references she'd been laboring over in the restricted section of the library at one point in her life.

He growled to himself, turning his eyes on Hermione again.

_'Where the hell is my wand?!'_

Carelessly dropping her possessions down beside her body, he stopped suddenly, the fact that he could've killed her dawning on him. He lifted his right arm slowly and pressed his index and middle finger to her wrist; there was a pulse. Removing his fingers hurriedly as though her skin was burning, he exhaled, secure in the fact that she wasn't dead.

He looked around the room and found a spare set of robes on a lonely shelf. He allowed himself a small chuckle as he lugged the cloth over his left arm, remembering when he'd burst in on Potter and his silly meetings during his fifth year; he was more the positive this was the same room.

Glancing at Granger a last time, he briefly considered a memory modification charm, but decided against it. If she knew his secrets in full, she'd quiver at the sight of him—nothing to worry about there.

Hermione groaned loudly as she lifted herself off the cold stone floor; her backside was stiff and her head seemed to have a heartbeat of its own. Looking about her, at the night sky outside the lone window, and her current position, _on the floor_, she squealed and immediately shot up, Draco's rampant assault in her mind. He was no where to be seen, however, and her wand lie only a few feet in front of her.

Scrambling to her toes, she snatched the piece of wood, and hugged it to her stomach, refusing for a few brief moments to let it away from her body. She huffed as soon as she realized what she was doing. _'After all, a lotta good the damn thing did against Malfoy._

_"Why...how...unfortunate."_

The voice was cold, making even the coldest, fiercest of predators shiver upon hearing it. The sinister black robes masked a disfigured yet perfectly smooth face, with crimson orbs burning through slit-like openings.

_"You are sure?"_

"Yes, master."

_"It seems we will have to discuss this matter with him then. Bring him to me."_

"Of course, master; we have those in place even as we speak, prepared to go to the end of the earth for you. He'll be here soon, begging and pleading for forgiveness."

_"You shall hope."_

"Yes, master."

_"Be gone."_

Shuffling of feet could be heard, and the door to the room closed very softly. _"How very interesting..."_ Lifting himself from the only piece of furniture decorating the room, Voldemort stood, his robes swishing around his inhumanly thin body. A small satchel hung from the mantle of the now dead fireplace, settled directly in front of the chair.

With a hiss, the fire burst to life, though its flames were dark, obsidian. It was the essence of beauty: beautiful and mesmerizing evil. The flames licked and danced, prancing about in black and silver-white flames. Staring into them, he thrust a pearly white hand into the bag, and extracted a substance, powdery and emerald in color.

Throwing it into the flames, the Dark Lord whispered softly, _"Lucius Malfoy."_ And before him, stood a very disgruntled-looking Lucius Malfoy, landing with a soft thump. Recognizing where he was, he dropped to one knee immediately, inky robes spilling across the floor, and his ponytail of white locks tied back with a black bow, filling the crevice between his flesh and collar.

_"Malfoy."_

"My lord?"

_"You delivered me your son as a gift, am I incorrect?"_

"No, my lord. I offer Draco to you willingly."

_"It is considered rude to take back a gift."_

"My lord?"

_"Young Malfoy was taken into the forest within Hogwarts grounds, and given a healthy dose of a certain...cleansing element: a vial of Limporius. Malfoy, are you aware of the effects said potion has on a body?"_

"Yes, my lord, it removes anything impure of the body, inside and out, of the skin or meat, of undesirable sanctions."

_"I applaud your Potions work,"_ was the Dark Lord's dry answer as he advanced on the still-kneeling figure before him. _"Are you also aware, of the effect the potion had on your son, Malfoy?"_

"I was not informed, master."

_"It began to eat away his mark."_

Lucius stumbled forward, grasping the hems of Voldemort's robes, frantically thinking of an excuse. "My lord! Are you sure you were correctly informed?"

_"Are you questioning me?"_

"No, master! But it is common knowledge that your other followers are envious of my rank in your service; what if they told you incorrectly to remove me from your trust? No other follower has offered you the life of their only son, my lord; you must know that Draco would follow you into death if you required it!"

Voldemort laughed, high-pitched and evil. _"Why, why is it that you have suddenly become so flustered? Is there something you did not tell me about young Malfoy? Uncertainty before entering my services, perhaps? Second guesses?"_ His final words billowed out into the cold atmosphere, nothing short of a hiss.

Lucius trembled visibly, "My lord, nothing of the sort! He was always willing; he is eager to serve you my lord!"

Voldemort stayed silent, sending his bloody vision over Lucius' trembling body, thinking quietly to himself. At long last he spoke, softly, but in a tone that screamed of danger.

_"You will bring that boy to his knees and command him into my court, without any hesitation. He must be shown discipline, respect, and be willing to give his life on a whims notice for my services. Do you understand?"_

"Yes, master! Oh gracious lord, I will teach him!" He hissed eagerly, kissing the hem of Voldemort's cloak. "He will never falter again my lord; I will kill him with my own hands if I ever detect any disloyalty!"

Voldemort considered his offer for a moment, before nodding. _"You've been given one chance; should you fail, you will watch your world crumble."_

"My lord I will not fail!"

_"Then be gone."_

With that, Lucious stood, for the first time in the encounter, and scrambled back into the black flames, casting one last glance at the back of the retreating Dark Lord, his mind already ticking away ways to force Draco to submit. That greedy little brat; his softness nearly caused Lucious his life.

"No worries," he hissed to himself, as he began to fall, free-falling from a cliff that never had a summit; it was simply...endless. "He will not say no again." And with that, his feet came into contact with his manor parlor, where he'd been when the Dark Lord had pulled him in.

Spying it lying in the grass, he near jumped atop it, clutching the piece of wood in his grasp tightly. "Merlin, it's still intact, thank you!" Draco muttered, cradling his wand against him. Not once before had he misplaced it; he'd been taught to place his life on it and without it, he was incapable of so much as producing light.

With his wand now in his hand, the anxiety in his stomach settled, and he calmed considerably since his encounter with Granger earlier. He still didn't understand why she of all people would have tried to nurse him. But there was no doubt that if she had not, he'd be in bounds and on his way to Azkaban right this moment if any member of the faculty had witnessed what was imprinted on his arm.

His arm.

Pocketing his wand, he flipped the left corner of his robes down, exposing his arm. The bandage Granger had applied was settled there, the spot of blood massive, but it wasn't bleeding through the cloth, likely meaning the flow had stopped. Nimbly untying the knot that held it together, he gently unfurled it, hissing inwardly as the cloth stuck to his wound in certain places.

He nearly screamed.

Pieces of the mark, most noticeably the lower jaw and a portion of the left cheekbone, were utterly..._gone._ Oh gods, he was going to die. How much had they seen of it before he had noticed and fled? Would they tell Voldemort? Of course they would; anything to get into his good graces.

Whatever relief he felt at finding his wand was doubled over two fold in immense, mind-numbing fear.

She stumbled through the halls, still in a slightly delirious manner. Her room. She needed to make it back to her room; there was something wrong with her. There was something—_something_—in the back of her mind. Oh, in all the times she'd been in danger at least she had known why. This was absurd! The pit of her stomach flopped about as if it where trapped in the winds of a furious hurricane; she was sweating large droplets, and her breath was as labored as if she had raced across the grounds and back again.

It didn't make sense. She was in such a state of terror, but her rational mind told her there was nothing to be worried about. She was dashing madly through the corridor, hoping to find anyone; a first year Slytherin would have comforted her at this point, if even for the presence of another mortal.

As if she'd suddenly been thrown into Harry's world in their second year, she nearly toppled over, shrieks echoed across the walls: blood-curdling screams of pain and agony.

"Oh...Harrry! Someone! Harry! Ron! HARRY!"

She yelled, looking about in all directions, tears mingling with her sweat as the ear-splitting howls reverberated through her mind. She grasped the sides of her head and whimpered. Her body was trembling terribly, and her hair lie matted to her head, some of it still left tangled in her hair tie. "Harry." She moaned, dashing madly to the portrait of the Minister of Magic.

When she reached the image, she stopped abruptly and nearly collapsed in disbelief. It was as if her history was repeating itself, only this was much more grotesque. The pieces of the canvas were not just shredded as the Fat Lady's had been; this didn't even look like it had been a portrait!

A large section of the right top corner had been ripped away and landed on the floor, coupled with several other pieces of various middle and corner pieces of the image. Where the Minister was she had no idea, but he would have to have his painting replaced; unless there was a way to fix a magically-instated portrait? Hermione's mind was making no sense to her, and it seemed to be all-together avoiding the rational side of her thinking, turning over instead to a consistent hum of emotional terror.

And her panic was not to be eased. What she thought would have been relief, turned to sheer, mind-shattering dread. Draco was running towards her, wand at the ready, his silver pools were fixed on her. She screamed and backed herself against the wall opposite the painting, trying to meld, however stupid it was, with the solid material.

He skidded in front of her, and slammed in to her shoulder, one hand wrapping its digits around the flesh of her throat, the other digging painfully into the crevice beneath the left portion of her collarbone. "What happened?!" he hissed, his face less than 10 millimeters from hers.

"I don't know." She whimpered, her eyes turning in and out of focus. She was reaching her breaking point quickly; the point—she now welcomed it with open arms—in which her blood could pump no faster, in which she could not be more scared, and into which she could sink into the loving embrace of unconsciousness.

"Don't lie to me, mudblood! What happened?" Draco was nearly screaming, indifferent to her sobs and hoarse responses of "I don't now...I don't know...I don't know..." He growled and slammed her shoulder back into the wall, causing her head jerking back as well. "Dammit, Granger! Snap out of it and give me a sensible answer!" he shrieked, his eyes were no longer grey but a dark, piercing blue, like a growing storm.

"I don't know!" She finally screamed back, the pain in her head and shoulder jolting her away from her lulling peace. "I was running...running to my room, and there were screams. The walls were shrieking at me, and I saw red, blood, I don't know... I was only running and I don't know why the walls were screaming in pain, and I came here, and someone attacked him." She cried hysterically, tears rolling down her cheeks again.

"Him?"

Hermione nodded and gestured towards the now empty portrait. Draco looked deftly over his shoulder, and absorbed at the destroyed image. His face, whatever color he had ever held in its pale depths, what singular pigment that had ever resided in it, took flight.

He gripped her harder and, in an act of fear, pulled her to him, crushing her body against his. "Granger, stop crying, stop crying..." He murmured inaudibly over her sobs, his own eyes clouding over in the terror that had threatened to take Hermione over. The Dark Lord knew. There was no mistaking these signs; he had no doubts his life would be at its end this night.

"Stop crying." He mumbled into her temple as she stood against him, her body heaving with her cries and wracking against his. There was no feeling between them, there was no emotion, no comfort; it was merely two humans scared out of their wits looking for someone in which to confide their terror.

* * *

_A/N - While I'm not knowledgeable at all in the Latin languages, I know a bit of Spanish. The potion used in this chapter, Limporius, is devised of the Spanish word Limpio, meaning 'clean'._


	4. We'll Know One Day

_**How to Kill a Rainbow** _

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_4: We'll Know One Day _**

* * *

****

"Stop crying." His tone was smooth, comforting—everything she knew he wasn't capable of producing.

"Shut up, Malfoy." She hissed back, pushing away from him. But in the oddity of the situation, in that horrible moment of closeness to the Slytherin Prince, Hermione had regained a tiny, however faulty, foothold into the steep mountain of stability.

She never let go of his shirt. Even when she jolted back from him, her fingers remained grasped around his clothing, refusing to let go of them in fear that he'd disappear as sudden as he had appeared. She didn't want to end up alone in the corridors that were lined with walls that could feel pain and scream at her. Even Malfoy was a step up from sheer insanity; anyone, including Harry, would admit it.

He took notice of her actions, but like her, in the depth of his mind, that small secondary moment of calm that had swept them over had enabled him to grasp a tiny amount of his strength, making his heart not beat as fast as it had moments before. Granger was here. Even if she was the waste of magical empowerment with her muggle blood, she was here; he wouldn't die without anyone noticing. Settling his hand on the small of her back, he followed her as she advanced on the torn portrait that was the entryway to their rooms.

"What could have done this?" she said softly to herself. Ripping the canvas was one thing, but tearing it into pieces—the magically-created portrait had strong, powerful barriers since it served as an entry into a prestigious portion of the castle—was spine tingling.

Draco was the first to voice their suspicions, "You think they're still in there? Whoever attacked him?"

Hermione shuddered, and he jumped at her quick reaction beneath his palm, still wholly aware of the danger they were in. Her knuckles were white; the intensity in which she grasped his shirt was evident.

Wrapping his fingers around her wrist he pulled her back, away from the painting. She moved with him, eyes locked to the disaster before them.

"Let me go in first," he muttered though his conscious thought sneered at him to let her go. If there happened to be an Avada Kedavra flying their way, it'd be much easier to let it hit her. It'd allow him seconds to escape, but even in his dark mind, the thought of letting a woman—regardless of her lowliness—take the brunt for him, a man of highest regards, was irksome.

She nodded, but before he could get very far ahead of her, he felt a jerk at his robes, and her fist was once again clenched around some of his clothing. He nearly laughed.

"Honestly, Granger. Can't you restrain yourself for a few moments?" he hissed over his shoulder; the jolt of pain in his calf as her foot collided with it making him smirk. "All right, all right. No need to get kinky."

Hermione only 'Hmph-ed' at him, still not releasing his cloak. "Got your wand?" She whispered, if only to hear her voice in his taunts.

"No, I'm wholly prepared to jump in and defend my own and your graciously lower status life with my shoes and charming smile."

It would seem in the face of danger, nothing is funnier than the thought of Draco Malfoy defending the likes of Hermione Granger with only his shoe and a grin. She giggled girlishly behind him, pushing him lightly. "Why Malfoy, I didn't know you cared so much for your Head Girl."

He smirked again; the dread in his chest was, in a very odd manner, receding. Even as he crept closer, it was draining away. The normalness of bickering with Granger was steadying him, and as his finger laced around the outer edge of the portrait, his breath returned to it's normal slow pace.

It wouldn't last long.

Opening the painting slowly, Hermione to the left of him, and he to the left of the entryway, he slowly lowered himself into the way, Granger still clumsily attatched to him. Her grip was the manner of saving his life.

"Avada Kedavra!"

He didn't have time to scream or turn, but it didn't matter. Hermione had been with Harry far too many times to trust the silence that had initially set when he'd opened the painting, and she had already begun to pull him back.

It was sheer luck she was smaller than him, because their off-balance weight had caused the both of them to crash backwards, and the green flash to lance off of the ledge of the portrait harmlessly.

They lay there, Draco flung backwards across Hermione for a few moments, to their advantage. The assailant, whoever he was, didn't even glance at them; he simply sprinted away, hissing to himself about plots and plans.

For a long moment, neither moved; both thinking perhaps more were in their shared common room, but when nothing stirred, Draco found the movement in his limbs once again, and began to lift himself up. Hermione, it seemed, had taken the impact of the fall and was sprawled rather oddly against the floor.

When at last he reached his feet, and glanced down at her, she had not moved. "Granger, get up!" He hissed, nudging her with his toe rather forcefully. She didn't; her right hand was still spewed on its backside, palm up, and her fingers curled lightly above it, almost lifelessly.

"Granger!" Once again, no reaction. The shadows cast by the corner of the hall lie across her torso and most of her right arm, and whatever was wrong with her, he could not see. Fishing for his lost wand, he muttered "Lumos," and took in the sight before him.

She was alive, no doubt. The curse had been aimed at him and had ricocheted away, but she was out for the count. Sighing at his misfortune this night, he knelt beside her and gripped her shoulders, peeling her away from the floor. "Mudblood, if you ever mutter a word about my help, I will kick your teeth in."

He whispered, satisfying himself more then anything. This was ridiculous; helping this muggleborn, but eh, what the hell—not like he'd live to get the punishment from his father should he ever find out.

In the area her head had been, a miniscule pool of blood had appeared, explaining her unconsciousness. "Damn." He muttered to himself, lowering himself next to her and seizing her arms above the elbow. "Must be getting fat." He mused, grinning to himself as he jested, and hoisted her frame onto his back, her shoulders lying on one of his.

Quite by accident, he found his cheek pressed lightly against hers when he stood, and again, poor Hermione found herself sprawled on the floor. "Shit!"

He cursed, shaking his head at the jolt he'd received when he unexpectedly felt the heat of her flesh against him. It wasn't pleasant; he'd temporarily gone into a state of shock, registering only that something pale and fleshy was on his face.

Deciding against that state of aid, he simply slid one hand beneath her knees, the other beneath the largest of her back, and lifted her up. She swung limply against his stomach, swaying with his steps.

He felt so stupid, going back to the cause of the entire incident it seemed; the Room of Requirement. If he took her to Pomfrey he'd have to explain why she was unconscious and why someone had been shooting Avada Kedavras at him with the school's beloved 'insufferable-know-it-all' in tow.

So he found himself pacing before the wall, Hermione hanging lifelessly, and he entered slowly, glancing around.

The room he'd awoken to this morning was where he stood, though it was slightly modified. There was a large, quite comfortable looking armchair placed angularly to an even more luxuriously ample bed, though it was by no means 'homely-looking.' Both were stark white, blindingly clean and creaseless.

When he'd been pacing, he'd been thinking of his exhaustion and so it seemed the room had accommodated for their mutual rest.

Drifting into the room, he crossed its lengths, and, rather harshly, dumped her on the bed, turning her body over onto her stomach, and looking about for something on head wounds.

By sight it was nothing serious, a minor concussion, but he still had no idea how to treat it. "Maybe I should just let her bleed to death," he mused, snickering and even as he laughed, sifting through the books for a title that would benefit the situation.

Finding one, he sifted through its pages and worked for a few minutes, mixing a rather smelly salve in a modest size cauldron placed in a corner. When at last it reached the light green color described in the book, he poured the contents onto a strip of gauze he'd found in a cupboard, and placed it lightly on the sheets beside her sleeping body.

"Er..." He stared at the back of Hermione's head for a few moments, debating how to find the exact location of the wound. Refusing to touch her anymore then necessary, he poked into the depths of her hair with the point of his wand, but finding the tangled mess too hazardous for the slim bit of wood, he found himself slipping his fingers in her locks, extracting them every now and then with bloody tips.

At last he found the small point of broken skin, and with the hair tie that had already been in her hair, he wrapped pieces of it away, lightly placing the cloth against the wound. As the book instructed, he held it in place for forty seconds and muttered a small pain-reducing charm, in case the patient was aroused, the book advised, by the minty scent of the ointment.

When the time frame was up, he withdrew the gauze, and found that the wound was healed, not so much as a scar remained. Flipping the tie over his head and catching it in the opposite hand, he grabbed all of her hair, and twisted it together, locking it together in a smooth ponytail. He'd watched his father create his own so many times it was second nature to him, though he glanced at his own hands after he'd done it in a rather confused sort of state. He'd touched the mudblood unnecessarily!

_'Oh, sod off Draco. She's not going to burst into flames and burn your flesh off.'_

He laughed at himself; of all times to reprimand his own thoughts. Ah well, pushing her shoulder, he rolled her over and onto her back, and tossed a sheet at her unconscious form. "Night, mudblood."

Settling himself in the depths of the rather squishy armchair, Draco mused quietly for a while, thinking of the events of the day. This morning he'd been on the verge of murder, the object? Granger. He rolled his eyes. He didn't like this rift in his life; this sudden forcefulness of spending his time in such close proximity of her.

_She saved your life you ninny, shut up and accept it.'_

Draco snorted; even his own mind was against him. So be it then, he owed Granger his life. "Dammit it all!" He settled his gaze at her sleeping form, and narrowed his eyes, "Damn heroes." With that, he drifted into slumber, and slept the night hours through.

She stared at him for a good while, unable to come to terms with the events of the previous night. What an odd day it had been; she was sure she was going to die that morning, at his hands no less, and yet, she'd awoken to find a pleasant tingling in the back of her head, a minty scent surrounding her, and a warm bed to sleep in.

She'd also awoken to Draco slumbering next to her, his head propped up on his own fist, silver bangs shielding the upper portion of his face.

"Have I died and gone to hell?" She pondered loudly to what she thought was herself. Draco hissed out a laugh, his eyes snapping open and locking with hers. Her blood immediately crept up her face. How long had he been watching her watching him? "Granger." He nodded her way, his eyes back to their normal grayish-silver scheme.

Hermione managed a tiny smile, the most minuscule of gestures, and pushed herself from the mattress of the bed. "Wha..." She whispered, the weight of what had happened bearing down on her. "What are...you...we...going to do?" She whispered, drifting to the opposite end of the room, numbly pacing.

"What do you mean?"

She spun on her heel and eyed him up and down; very aware that she was in the same position she'd been in the previous morning.

"You and I." She muttered flatly, her gaze slowly hardening to a glare. "You did something to anger them, because it certainly wasn't me that went tramping about with fellow Death Eaters! And now you've gone and included me into your ordeal!"

Draco swept his gaze across her face, and his eyes locked indefinitely, it seemed, with hers. "There is no 'You and I,' mudblood. There is an 'I' and no 'you' in my world. Understand?"

Hermione only glared at him, fully aware of his usual cockiness returning in its full ability. She voiced her displeasure, but kept it minimal. She didn't really want to face the wrath of his full anger again any time soon. "I'm glad to see you've placed yourself at the top of the world again Draco, at least it returns one thing in life back to its normal state. Now if you'd kindly put the rest back...?"

Draco stared at her, had she just...? Obviously there was more to that ointment than it had spoken for. "If you insist, Her-my-oh-knee," He pronounced her name in an odd manner; it was foreign to his tongue, "that we be on first name basis, I'll comply, but I'm sure you understand that I can't fix anything. You don't realize the extent of what I've done."

If he could do it she could, she placed her fists matter-of-factly like on her hips, and glared at his features, "Try me."

"Fine. But you may want to sit; you're in for one helluva story."

She faltered. "That easily?"

Draco growled, "Did you want to know why that man tried to kill us yesterday or would you rather die not knowing? It doesn't really matter to me; I'll die knowing either way."

Hermione cocked her head a bit, trying to discern whether to believe him or not, but seeing no harm, she walked back towards him and settled on the edge of the bed she'd woke up in.

"Okay."

He stayed still for a moment, and absently brushed away a stray twist of bang, bringing his gaze back to hers, and opening his mouth.

"Well..."


	5. Who Can We Trust

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_5: Who Can We Trust, What do We Know, and Why Has it Happened_**

* * *

****

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"I wish I was, really, Professor. I can't do much more than this, but we've got incredible complications and it's only getting worse as time goes on."

"I understand that, but now...oh god Remus, I've signed their death warrants!"

"Now, Professor, none of that. You've done what you had to and it's up to them to get out of it now, but what's unfolding at the school is...terrible, to put it lightly."

"How do you know? Who told you this?"

"Severus."

"Of all the nerve!"

"I understand. Believe me; I was fighting the urge to break his large nose as he told me. I hate him as much as the next wizard, but what can we do but believe him? You were fully aware of the pact he made with Narcissa. Why would he put the boy in such a position of danger if he didn't know it to be true?"

"I know Remus...I know. I wondered why Albus brought him back to the school; this doesn't make any sense, but it does hint at something we don't know about."

"Get them out of there Minerva, please!"

"I'm fully aware of my charges, Remus!"

Lupin sighed, resigned as he was, he still stayed in awe beneath the likes of Minerva McGonagall; she was a mighty woman indeed.

"I have no other choice at this moment than Grimmauld; the both of them will have to go until we are aware of what exactly Ms. Granger knows."

"Agreed, but we will need a story. Something that will not make _him_ so suspicious."

"I'll come up with one, though I hardly dare to hope that he won't immediately know something is amiss. It's Granger I fear for. I find it hard to say I care for Malfoy's well-being, regardless of his age, but how far has Ms. Granger been dragged into this mess with so little knowledge? Potter and Weasley will throw a fit when they learn of this."

Lupin barked a dark and bitter laugh.

"A fit? That's hardly the phrase, and they already know. I tell you they were ready to throttle Voldemort himself."

McGonagall smiled at this; a cold one, but a smile nonetheless, something she hadn't done in a while.

"Minerva?"

"What Remus?"

"You know the boy is innocent."

She sighed heatedly, but in all her rage, she did remember. Dredging from the depths of her memories, a first year Draco Malfoy entered her mind with his adorably round face and curious eyes. She'd hoped with all her might when she'd laid eyes on him he'd be the one to break away from the Malfoy legacy.

"I know Remus...I know. I do fear for his safety. I'm aware of his home situation, but one can have only so many places in their hearts for the bad guys."

He laughed, fully aware of her meaning.

"I understand. Let's hope this is all true, and if it is, we've stumbled upon the downfall of Lucius. If he goes down, Minerva we've got the collapse of every Death Eater to date!"

"I hear you Remus, I do. But it just seems too much to hope for; that Draco is really as innocent as Dumbledore made him out to be. After all, he trusted Severus."

Remus sighed, running a hand through his stringy hair, and nodded.

"We're all aware of his mistake Minerva. It kills me as much as it does you."

"However."

McGonagall stood at her full height, bearing once again the weight of what Dumbledore had left her to complete.

"We can only hope in the best of young Draco. It's a far cry from what I hoped would end this for all of us, but it seems Mr. Potter is not the only underage wizard we'll be relying on to save us all."

"Harry'd be happy."

McGonagall laughed then, a truthful giggle.

"He'd throw a fit."

That in turn wrought a laugh from Lupin, and he grinned lopsidedly at her, "Too right."

"In all honesty, I know Remus. I know the boy's innocent; he's got something his father never possessed, and I can't fault him for living beneath that monster's rule. It will just take some time to adjust to the fact that he, though unknowingly, brought about the death of the greatest wizard of our time."

Lupin nodded, and the embers of the fire began to churn as he moved.

"I understand, Minerva, for all his redemption; I'd like to crack the kid in the face just one time before I give him my hand."

McGonagall laughed outright, and began to move away from the fire's glare within her office, "Well-stated."

"See you in a few days Minerva."

She nodded, and with that the likes of Remus Lupin disappeared within the depths of her fire. She sighed, running a veined hand through her curled bun of grey strings, and her customary frown formed the lines of her face.

"Innocent indeed."

She walked out of her office, fearing greatly the safety of what the future held for them all.

"I'm sure you're used to the story of the Dark Lord, so I won't drill it into your head anymore than necessary. My father, as the entire Wizarding community now knows, thanks to your freakishly nosy friend Scarhead and his infamous fire-haired weasel side kick,"

Hermione bristled at his comments, but kept quiet, determined to hear him out before she scolded him.

"Is, even in the Death Eaters world, the right hand man of the Dark Lord; his most prized servant, and though he's not able anymore, he was at one point capable of making anything happen.

Contacts within the ministry, friends in places you'd think didn't exist, favors, Imperius curses, money, at one point he even attempted to give my mum away for a return favor, though she got out of it."

Hermione jumped a little at his words, she'd known Lucius was evil, but using his own wife as means of a bribe?

"But, in everything he did, my dad topped them all off one night. No hope of ever going above what he's done in service of the Dark Lord is amongst the Death Eaters now. Well, maybe now because of recent events, but for seventeen years there wasn't; only a lot of jealousy and lies that usually wound up in the death of my father's opponents."

"You?" Hermione gasped out, quite capable of putting two and two together.

He nodded lightly at her, as if they were discussing the weather outside.

"He gave me to the Dark Lord, the night I was born through an unbreakable vow. When I reached manhood, seventeen, I was to go into his services and in the event of my father's death, regardless of its reason, take his place with full access to everything he possessed: friends, money, you name it."

Hermione wasn't sure how to process this bit of information, but naming the man that started it, it didn't register as much as a surprise as it should have.

"Naturally, being raised in a house of Death Eaters, a family reigned by it, I saw nothing wrong with it. I was anxious; I couldn't wait until my seventeenth birthday to serve him, to prove myself to him, to be the head of the Malfoy family."

"Only, I messed up," he hissed, glaring at his own hands at this point, his eyes, in his anger, turning icy blue. "I didn't go the way I was supposed to. On the night of my introduction, we went to a small village, very remote, so I could...well...practice."

Hermione was biting back a retort at this point, even if he had been eager, the emotion riddled through his words now were tearing at her good will.

"So I did, I killed them all, every last soul in that little dung pile of a town. But when the day light started to drift over the hill, I saw that my last victim was a little girl. She was, maybe, I don't know—six? And I was foolish. I was stupid to have looked back; its something a Death Eater would never do, not even a true one. But I did, I fucked up and looked back, and I saw her."

Hermione was staring at him, thinking what it would be like to see the death of a tiny, innocent child, and knowing it had come about by your own hand.

"She had really long blonde hair that reached her lower back, and these long eyelashes, like if she'd have grown up, she would've been a really cute kid. Only she had a shriveled-up look on her face and she was wearing the same expression her adult parents were: painful, tortured."

He murmured quietly, staring hardly at the floor around his feet.

"If it was within my power at that point, even in the darkest of magics, to give that little girl back her life, I would have done it. The regret that shot through me when I saw her was...unexpected. But nothing slips pass the Dark Lord, and he grabbed me and threw me down on top of her body."

Hermione was now rocking herself slowly; the fibers of his words were rather heart-wrenching. Either he was as much an actor as he was a prat, or he was telling the truth.

"He asked me if I was sorry for killing her, and I told him no. He knew I was lying, but what could I do? Tell the most powerful being on earth that at that moment I was wishing with everything I had I could spit on him?"

"So he just laughed at me, kicked me aside, and set fire to her body. He made me sit there, and watch her beautiful blonde hair shrivel away, until there wasn't anything left of those curly little eyelashes but a black mass. My father laughed along with him, and every body in the village was dragged to its center, where she had lain."

A tiny shriek escaped Hermione's lips, and as if for the first time he noticed she was in the same room with him, he stopped suddenly, and glared at her. "Shut up Granger, I don't want your sympathy, or pity, or any other caring sort of emotion out of you. You wanted to understand, so I'm telling you."

He glared at her for a second longer and continued with his story.

"After that I was given an assignment. In order to 'toughen me' I had to kill Dumbledore, the Dark Lord said. My own headmaster, and if I could, get a few of the teachers in the mix just for good measure. I was to avoid Potter with a vengeance because Dark Lord wants him for himself, and I think someone was up there that night.

"With Dumbledore; someone was up there and watching. I heard it, but whoever they were, I don't think it was one of Dumbledore's Aurors. It couldn't have been. They would have killed me or disarmed me; they wouldn't have let him die, but, if it wasn't one of his men, you'd think it was one of the Death Eaters.

"Only, I can tell when they're around. Those blundering oafs never get it out of their heads that they are pawns; they always have to make an entrance, always jumping at a chance to do something of honor to the Dark Lord. Whoever was up there with us was not on either side I think...but who claims neutrality in this war?"

He shook his head; he was rambling, speaking anything that came to his mind, and eventually he found his way back to his original story.

"Somewhere along the way that year I found myself sort of unwilling to do it, so I only tried slightly to do anything. A necklace and a bottle of poisoned mead.

"Neither, I was very sure, would reach him, but I would only admit it in the back of my mind at the time. Eventually—I'm almost sure of it in fact—Severus informed Dumbledore of what I was supposed to do, because shortly before his...well, death, he called me to his office, and I'm fairly sure, would have gone as far as to slip me truth serum if I hadn't told him, but I did, and he said he'd do everything within his power to keep me safe at least one more year."

Hermione's eyes snapped open, as the answer to her question was revealed, "Head boy, he made sure your father couldn't get out of sending you back because of your Head Boy duties!"

Draco nodded at her in slight annoyance at having his story disrupted, but he showed little sign of stopping now that he was finally spilling his internal feud to someone.

"There is a certain magic to those duties. Once they are distributed, something as desperate as death maybe could evade them. But for me, who had to keep my face in the general public at all times in order to maintain an innocent facade for my father, I had to come back, otherwise it'd be more than suspicious. My father was, as you could expect, pissed, and the Dark Lord was no more pleased, but it was in Dumbledore's power to appoint whoever he felt, and the Dark Lord didn't want to draw the attention of the wizarding community just yet to his location, so he allowed it."

Hermione was sitting Indian-style atop her perch, simply looking at Draco, a sort of stoic compassion in her eyes.

"During the year, he's been having me come to meet some of his followers in the Forbidden Forest, to update me on plans within the circle, and to make sure I stayed in my place; a faithful Death Eater.

"Until yesterday. When I went to meet them, they had a potion, Limporius, they called it. It was a potion that was supposed to get rid of any scars I had on my body, something about the Dark Lord needs a perfect flesh to take from. I don't know, wasn't paying attention. So they gave me the potion, and told me to concentrate on anything I didn't want in, or on my body. Like scars and such. I...I did what they asked, but, I didn't think it was possible..."

His last words were faint, and he looked pale even for himself.

"I thought of the Dark Mark, and it began to burn. For a moment I thought it was the Dark Lord calling us, but it didn't feel the same, and the Mark doesn't cause you to bleed when you're being summoned. That potion is an acid, it eats away from the inside out, and it had...it started to eat at the Dark Mark. I honestly had no idea what was happening, the Mark is supposed to be irreversible magic, but, well..."

Draco slid the left shoulder piece of his robe down, to about elbow length, and turned in his chair. Hermione was able to view the full extent of the damage done to his Dark Mark. The lower jaw was completely gone, the snake like tongue merely hung, unbidden, and the left cheek bone had been erased. Spots had also appeared within the rest of the image, leaving it cracked and ripped.

At the finish of his story, Hermione did the only thing she could possibly do, even to her worse enemy. She leapt up, her hair leaping behind her in its mass, bent over his form in the armchair, and wrapped her arms around his neck. For a long moment, Draco only stared, his breath caught in his throat.

"What the hell?" He finally rasped out, but he was startled into silence.

Hermione was clinging to him, fully aware of what she was doing.

"Woman, what is the matter with you? Get a hold of yourself!" He growled at her, though the malice in his voice was strongly in an undertone. What was wrong with Granger? Touching him like that!

She stood again, and for a moment Draco had the uncomfortable feeling she was going to fling her arms around him again, but she didn't. Instead she retreated to the bed and collapsed on it.

"I'll help you."

Her whisper was almost inaudible, but Draco heard it well enough. "You can't. You'll only get yourself killed and then I'll have to contend with Potter sobbing like a ninny before I get killed." He hissed at her, the venom back in his voice full force.

"I don't care. No one, Malfoy, no one deserves to be pushed like that, much less by the useless worm who claims to be a man that's your father!" She exclaimed, bounding from her place on the bed. Draco coiled back,

_'What the hell? Where did that come from?'_

"I mean it!" She stomped her foot, her hair jumping before settling back across her back, "That worthless scum of a fool has no right claiming to be a man of any sorts! Giving his son away as if he were—were...a _present_. It's disgusting! No! I will not allow it! Dumbledore swore he'd help you, and as a loyal follower of him and his beliefs, I shall too!"

Draco laughed. "Granger, come off it, this is no time to act like a hero...ine." He finished meekly, still eyeing her wearily from her outburst. Her reply sent him into silence again.

"Shut up, Malfoy! I'm thinking. Let's see...I can get Harry to call an Order meeting, but of course that means you'll have to leave Hogwarts if they know where you are, and...Well...twelve isn't as safe as it once was, but it's still protected...but oh if anyone could get Kreacher to behave it'd be you..."

Draco gawked at her, completely at a loss for words at the musing witch, and utterly confused at her ranting. "Creature?" He mused allowed, recoiling again when she turned her glare on him.

"I said shut up."

He choked a laugh, and sank back into the chair, watching her prance in circles. "All right then..." This Granger was amusing, and...and something else. What was it?

_'Shut the hell up.'_

After a while, perhaps half an hour, Hermione subdued herself into a tight pattern of pacing steps, and eventually settled Indian-style in the center of the room, still muttering to herself.

Draco was lost in his own realizations however, and when his gaze fell on Hermione he almost felt sorry—almost. "Granger." He prodded at her lightly with his voice, testing her snappishness.

"What?" Her reply was soft, and whimsical, as if she'd discovered a way to end all of the world's problems with the stroke of a pen. "Granger, you realize, that you're in as much danger as I am now...whoever was in the Heads dorm has most likely seen you..."

She didn't even bother to look at him, merely tossing her head back and laughing gingerly. "Malfoy, have you forgotten who—or more importantly, _what_ I am?" She was laughing still; a bitter, foul laugh. "I'm Hermione Granger, Muggleborn witch; mudblood as you call me..." She whipped around and faced him, her brown eyes glittering in a dangerous sort of way.

"Friend of The-Boy-Who-Lived, one of the three beings who had a direct hand in helping Sirius Black escape in our third year, one who helped Harry in the demise of Quirrel in our first year. Do you really think what I'm doing now is putting me in more danger then I already am?

"I was there that night at the ministry! Though unconscious, I was there Malfoy. Since day one, I've been at Harry's side in this war and I will continue to do so until either Voldemort is dead, or I am." She finished simply, and, turning on heel, flounced back into her original sitting position.

He could only stare at her. The confusion that swam through his head was hardly something he'd ever expect to feel. Here he sat, staring at the mudblood he'd hated and despised so effortlessly for the blood that ran through her veins, and yet... that tainted, unworthy stream of life was what had saved him, and was now working vigorously to do so again.

Irony, the cruel fated irony.


	6. The Closing of Hogwarts Doors

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_6: The Closing of Hogwarts Doors _**

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"Dear god."

Lightly, she placed her fingers on the canvas of the entry to the Head dormitory. There were gashes and rips and tears, and good lord!

That settled it. The students were going home tonight.

Abruptly, McGonagall turned on her heel, and stalked down the halls. If Dumbledore radiated cold fury, McGonagall radiated eccentric flames when angry, definitely not the sight you'd want to run into.

And for the second time in all the history of Hogwarts, Peeves found himself bowed into submission by a mortal being. Though it could have been, like the twins, he'd just been told to cause as much mayhem as possible.

"I want you to execute every trick you know; every trick that will not—do you hear me?—_will not_ cause fatal harm to every one, every thing, anyone you can think of. I want them all awake, I want them alert, and I want them in the Great Hall. _Now._"

His buggy little eyes had flashed open, his stubby little fingers had grasped the balled cap atop his head, and he'd done the best impression of a bow, before flashing away his serene cackling bouncing across the walls.

Now for her own duties, she had already awoken her Gryffindors, absolutely refusing to yield until they were all in assembly and marching towards the Great Hall in a threat of panic had she not been towering over them in her slightly frightening demand. Where were Granger and Malfoy?

Running to the kitchens, she burst through the pears entry, and howled at the top of her lungs, "Has anyone seen the whereabouts of the Head Boy and Head Girl?"

Dobby appeared from the side of a large stove, a pair of grubby hands tied deftly to his elbow; Kreacher had accompanied them.

"Miss Hermione is in trouble?"

"Oh my heads! What the mistress would say about Kreache.."

"Shut up before I tell you what I think about you, you nasty little ungrateful thing!"

Although he burned with contempt for her, the fire that emptied from the Headmistresses' eyes made the tiny elf quail and fall silent, though his face remained contorted in a cross between agony and loathing.

"Dobby, yes she is in trouble. Where is she? It's vitally important I want to know where both she and Malfoy are at this instant!"

Dobby squeaked, and nodded, "I don't know Ms. Headmistress! I don't know, but I will find Harry Potters lady friend! I will find her!"

And before McGonagall could reply, he was gone; Kreacher simply glared at her.

Turning on her heel, she made one last attempt to find the pair herself, and she made her way towards the Infirmary. She pushed the door open and stormed in, seeing two students were set asleep; one with a cast ladled across his arm, the other some unseen malady.

"Poppie!" Her yell was high-pitched, and just a tiny bit hysterical. A crash resounded as the door to the nurses' office was thrown open, and she came bustling towards McGonagall.

"Headmistress?"

"Have you seen either Granger or Malfoy at any time within the last 48 hours?"

The squat woman purged her eyebrows together for a moment, running frantically through the list of students she'd been through in the last two days. "No."

The Headmistress sighed, and gestured to the two sleeping students, "I need these students up and dressed, and in the Great Hall within 15 minutes. I have no choice at this point, but to clear the school within the hour."

The nurse simply stared at her in disbelief, "Wha..."

"Please, Poppie, I will tell you everything I know—everything—in the following staff meeting, but at this moment, it's imperative we get everyone home to their parents in a matter of urgency."

There was no questioning the fire that lit the little woman's eyes, her students in danger? They dare!

She turned on her heel and huffed into her office, gathering several vials of a potion for the boy that had no visible illness and a sling for the one with the broken arm.

She stayed for a brief moment, in awe at the intense sort of care that had sparked across her employed nurses' shoulders, and smiled. With the women of the world, they did indeed, have a fighting chance.

"Students of Hogwarts!"

At once the vast room fell silent and there was not a whisper to be had. With a stare much resembling a hawk, she glanced at each table, taking in the memories of what had once been her life for a brief few moments.

The bright yellow, her Hufflepuff sweethearts, and their champion, the late Cedric Diggory. His triumphs during the Tri-Wizard tournament, his eyes that shone through the light of a brave little innocent that was just another casualty in the wake of the wrathful feud that was ripping the wizarding world apart. They were so good, these charming Hufflepuffs, and with a tear in her eye, she felt her heart swell at the thought; these were the people that held the world together.

The eccentric blue, those vastly wise eyes that formed the house of wisdom, Ravenclaw, and her squat little head of house, Flitwick. What a charm. This was the house of glory; these wizards and witches of the wise. They formed the world's defense, and its pain. They were the brains of it all—not deducing the other houses were stupid, by no means were they—but this particular little group of beings, they were the dazzling charm that made the Wizarding world so grand. With their wit and humor, they had certainly formed the humorous conversations in her classrooms.

The emerald gleam, and in all the pain that house had caused over the centuries, she could not help but feel just a little extra love for them. The elaborate and cunning house of Slytherin, though their champion was now threatening the world with death. The likes of a certain blonde student passed through her mind, and she smiled. He was innocent. Draco Malfoy was innocent. And that, that made the Slytherin house shine in her heart next to her own brave little twits. They were the ones that would keep the world on its toes, they were the ones that would be the downfall of everyone else, and they were the ones—bless them—that would make life worth living.

The crimson flow of her own house, the mighty Gryffindors, and here an immeasurable grand sweep of pride filled her. In all of their glory and stupidly brave ignorance, from them came the pride of so many hearts: The Golden Trio; the astonishingly smart muggleborn, Hermione Granger, the arrogantly inflated head of Ron Weasley, though he can be the heart-wrenching charmer when he pleased, and the head of the group, the descendant of the grandest couple to attend Hogwarts, Lily and James Potter. With his mother's glorious eyes, and his father's unfathomably messy obsidian hair, Harry Potter did live up to be the Chosen One. The entire Weasley clan, bless them, and the others that made up her house, oh she'd miss her brave little Gryffindors.

She had intended to make it quick, swift, but she couldn't. Memories were threatening to burst in her head as she recollected the years of the grand school, each filled with a dash of yellow, red, blue, and green. This was her home, these were her students, the pride of her years—and heavens, this was where she met Albus Dumbledore.

She voiced her anguish.

"My dear students, ghosts, staff, and poltergeist."

He giggled madly and sat atop a blown-out candlestick, enjoying the one time he'd been granted recognition openly as a piece of Hogwarts.

"I'm..." She tried to pry her jaw open, but it wasn't working very well. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, and as she tried to speak, more memories assaulted her, flashes of grins and tears, heartbreaks and life long romances.

"I've wakened you all to have to tell you." She paused, not for stress, but because she found that she could not form the words. She breathed deeply. "Hogwarts can no longer remain open."

There was a stunned silence and a collective shift of wholly un-Hogwarts-like rapt attention; even the Slytherin house seemed taken aback. After all, Hogwarts was, though none would openly admit it, their home.

"Earlier this night, I discovered the entry to the Head dormitory shredded, much as some of you will remember, happened four years ago, presumably, by Sirius Black.

"However Black was only able to rip the portrait. But these are no standard paintings. Each of those in Hogwarts are alive, much as you and I are; they talk, they remember, they learn, they know. And in doing so it is no easy feat to damage one, and my dears, the one guarding the Heads' dorm has been severely damaged."

She spoke with such tear-jerking honesty. No one bothered to question her uncharacteristic term, and they simply listened numbly as she continued.

"Tonight I found the entry portrait, shredded, tattered and pieces of it lie on the floor. I cannot stress how completely and utterly impossible that is for a student at Hogwarts to do. This was the work of a very, very powerful dark wizard, meaning, as I'm sure you can conclude, the wizard or they were at one point in the school.

"I cannot be sure whether the intruders are still here or not, though it is not safe at this point to presume anything. I can only hope the assailant has left.

"It is my duty, as your Headmistress, to protect each and every soul in this room." She flared.

Looking back to that night, there was not one soul who would have had anyone else take over the school, even in the shadowy recesses of the Slytherins who were traitors to her. One could simply not forget the gleam of intense, frightening, motherly love in her eyes directed at them.

"And by all means, I will be damned if someone dares threaten my students while my heart still beats!" She exclaimed, glaring at no one in particular but making each of them, all several hundred students, feel entirely warmth as they knew, in that one moment, they were safe.

And as soon as it had begun, it was over. She fell back into resigned defeat, and began to end her speech. "In less then ten minutes time you will all be escorted to the front doors, and led by house and year, to the Hogwarts Express platform. Your belongings have all been packed, and are being deposited in the train as we speak.

"Students of Hogwarts, I feel, as your Headmistress, you understand how terrible this choice is. For centuries, the walls of Hogwarts have been a bastion of faith for the world, a continuation of the wizards' legacy. Tonight that bastion has been invaded, and has fallen."

She hung her head, tears fighting her will tooth and nail to fall. Oh how she wished, with all her failing might that Albus was with her. Smiling his goofy crooked grin and twinkling blue eyes, patting her on the back and making her heart strengthen knowing she'd always have at least one friend in the world.

But, the disdainful quiet in the hall was suddenly struck with a chorus of calls and cheers, and she picked her head up.

"Like hell it's fallen!"

"I've spent the better part of seven years and I'll be damned if it's just going to end like that!"

"We'll be back! Don't you dare let Hogwarts go down like this!"

"We may be underage but we'll never let our home be taken away from us!"

"Honestly, Headmistress, you act is if we have no hope," an all too familiar female voice rang in the background.

And to her enormous surprise, her gaze landed on the pair that had walked through the door, and the caller of the last retaliation.

It wasn't a scream, it wasn't a cry; it was a statement. And the entire hall fell silent as they realized who had said it.

Draco Malfoy looked very angry indeed. Hermione Granger looked just as mad. They were walking together, and between them, Voldemort himself might have taken a step backwards.

Draco glared at McGonagall, finishing the statement Hermione had begun, "Don't you dare. Hogwarts has not fallen, and it never will."

Whatever resentment, hesitation, whatever feeling of not love she'd ever held for the boy, evaporated, and her tears fell. "It never will." She whispered back, smiling brightly as she cried.


	7. Throwing Punches

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_7: Throwing Punches _**

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Eventually he began to itch, and was growing quite bored just sitting there and watching Granger think.

"Are you ever going to move from that spot?" he asked absently, debating whether it'd be worth the trouble to turn her hair into a twisted knot by 'accident.'

"I'm thinking. This is going to require clear and precise planning, and not to mention a lot of persuasion. Harry really hates you, you know? And then to throw it at him that we need to keep you at his house."

Draco shot up, "What? I refuse. I've heard of his muggle keepers. I'll kill them with my bare hands!" He hissed aggressively, eyes glaring dangerously at the woman before him who only rolled her eyes at the statement.

"Oh shut up Draco. You're not going to the Dursleys', though I daresay Dudley might put you in your place." He growled at her. How many houses could Potter possibly have?

As if on cue, she answered his question, pulling herself onto her knees and pushing a sly strand of hair that was being quite mischievous and refusing to lie flat behind her ear. "You're going to another place. It used to be Sirius Blacks house, but it's Harry's now."

Draco gagged, "Black? Are you mad? I thought you said trying to help me. Why would you put me in a house with Black?"

Hermione's eyes filled slightly with a pang of tears, and her brown eyes began to glitter with moisture. "He's not there...Black, he's dead, you know." She sniffed slightly. Even if he wasn't any relation to her, she remembered the look of awe in his eyes when they'd helped him escape that night. She remembered hearing him laugh and that stupid grin he always wore when he was a black shaggy dog.

But most of all, she remembered the happiness he'd brought Harry when they were together, giving Harry a glimpse of his parents and their love, and the love they had for their son. No one else had come close to that, except maybe for Hagrid and his photo album, but Sirius, Sirius had been a part of the memories he'd shared, so they were always more intimate. Always brought me closer to my mum and dad, Harry had said.

"That night at the ministry...Sirius died. He wasn't a bad guy after all, and he...he was Harry's godfather, so when he died everything he had went into Harry's possession." Draco didn't look the least convinced, but eh, what the hell?

"So, you're going to take me, who is currently wanted by the Dark Lord as you so witness yourself last night, and put me in the house of a convicted killer? Please explain how this makes sense, to take a wanted person and put him in the house of an ex-wanted person?"

Hermione shook her head, and rose to her feet, "Harry's house is Unplottable, and under many secretly instated spells. Anyone but those of the Order would be hard pressed to come within miles, knowingly, of the house."

Draco merely stared at her; his resignation to death was complete. Definitely.

Hermione was stretching, pulling her hair back into a neat pony tail, long since tousled by her sleep, and collecting her things. "Time to go talk to McGonagall then."

Draco stared at her still, and quite suddenly, he burst out, "Granger?"

She lifted her head and looked at him, contemplating his features. "What?"

"I'm hungry."

He'd never known a book could hurt so bad.

"Hold on Gin."

"Ok Harry, I will."

"Ron, are you ok?"

"For now."

"We're almost through. It'll be over soon."

The three of them sat huddled together on Harry's Firebolt; Ginny in the front, Harry in the middle, and Ron hard-pressed to stay on at the end. The combined weight was a bit much, but how else was he supposed to get out of this situation without leaving behind one of his friends? It wasn't something he'd ever intend on doing.

It had been a mistake trying to see what was going on, but what else could he have possibly of done? It was just a bit cruel that he'd had to take Ginny and Ron along, but, as before, he really didn't have a choice.

He'd been sitting in that blasted house, thinking continuously of Sirius and mulling about the death of Dumbledore. Ron had been stuck at the house even longer than him, not really much to complain about it, but, what could you have expected? They were losing their minds, trapped here. He'd rather date a flobberworm and populated the world with charcoal-haired worms than be trapped in that house for another day.

He smiled, regardless of his current position. Scooting up half an inch or so, he wrapped an arm around Ginny, and pulled her tightly to him, trying to shield her bloody arm from the sting of the wind and rain that was pelting them as they flew.

Ron was clinging desperately to Harry's stomach. As much as Harry was clutching Ginny to his chest, Ron was clinging two-fold to him. "Harry! I don't think I can stay on much longer!"

"We're almost there Ron, just hold on!"

His stomach was lurching, and they were going to have a very rough time getting anywhere remotely defined as 'safe' and not losing one of them. The heavy rain storm wasn't helping matters. Even if he'd be flying alone, Harry had a trouble navigating the skies in storms; now he had the girl he'd die for and the man he'd give his life for in tow.

A flash streaked across the skies, throwing Ginny into a screaming panic instinctively bringing the broom into a pitch dive, "Shit!"

"Ginny what are you doing?"

The boys screamed simultaneously, "Ginny!" She was trying, with all the strength she possessed, to pull it up but they'd all slid forward; their weight was what was preventing them from moving. "Hold on to me Harry! Harry, please don't let me go!" she cried, as she slipped a hand into his, and slid off the left side of the broom.

Harry shrieked and clutched her hand with both of his. The rain, damn the rain; she was slippery! Ron was screaming behind him, trying to reach around Harry's bent form to bring the nose of the broom up, but he was falling himself.

How high up were they?

"Harry!" Ginny shrieked, tears filling her eyes when her fingers slipped away an inch, "Harry, Harry, please don't let go of me!" she cried, her voice ripping a few notches in Harry's heart.

"I won't, I promise I won't!"

He screamed at her; the storm around them intensified, they were in the worst part of it.

Ron had gone quiet, and he suddenly realized the warmth at his back that had been Ron's body was no longer there. "Ron!" Harry screamed, letting go of Ginny's hand with one while he gripped the broom with the other. "RON!"

Draco stretched and smiled lazily at the wall opposite him. Granger could cook, who knew?  
He tapped the arm of the white arm chair, and pulled himself into a curious position. Apparently the Room of Requirement had accounted food as a means of medical treatment. Maybe it had a bathroom too?

Scowling several minutes later he stepped into the room rather relieved and glared at Granger. She'd stolen his chair!

"Are you done prancing about?" she drawled lazily, lying partially on her right side, left leg lying daintily on the opposite arm, right tucked beneath her body. In her hands she held the slip of paper he'd found in her robe pocket, and she was smiling at it stupidly.

"Granger, stop fantasizing about a book and let's go," he sneered haughtily and turned his back, marching towards the door.

"You know, Draco," she began, almost eerily, "I never heard you thank me. You know that took a bit of work to take care of."

He stopped moving and immediately felt a pang of suspiciousness. That was not Granger's voice; it was far too...purr-ish. Looking about the room, he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, nothing suspicious. What the hell was going on?

"I'm serious; it's rude, you know, to not thank people when they help you out of something." She slid from her perch on the chair, taking care to let her left leg slide down the leather of the arm, her skirt riding farther and farther up as she did so. Nope, this was most definitely not Granger.

"I forgot," he muttered simply, now looking around for something that would indicate what exactly had happened to her. "Oh, well; then let me remind you, Draky."

He froze, there was only one person in the world who would call him Draky, but how did she get hold of Granger? His stomach contracted sharply; he did not want to have to do anything he'd regret in order to draw Pansy away. "Remind me, hmm? How exactly do you propose to do that?" He was stepping backwards slowly, edging away from the girl in front of him.

Granger's eyes narrowed for a moment, and you could almost tell she was fighting whatever it was she was under. But she covered it quickly, and stalked forward, swinging her hips slowly and bringing her shoulders up to match her steps. She reached up slowly, and yanked the tie fastening her hair together and let the waves of chocolate crash down. Draco hated long hair.

He stared at her, very aware of the game he was now trapped in. Granger would try to shove her wand through his forehead, and he'd have to scourgify his hands until he was hoarse in the throat, but this was the only way he could think of that would anger Pansy enough to draw her out.

He stopped, as the back of his knees hit the side of the bed, and he sank down onto it, his eyes lancing about the room for anything but the advancing woman's body. "C'mere and remind me then." He gulped, and his stomach acids began to churn lightly. His blood was boiling in an odd way, and his face had the distinct heat of a blush. He'd never really been repulsed by any girl, but he really couldn't find it in himself to touch Granger, much less when his darling Pansy was on the other end of it.

_'Imperius, nothing else would make the girl advance on me. Nothing.'_

Hermione did indeed advance on him, dropping just a few inches in front of him so their faces were level, and Draco only just stopped himself from cringing backwards. Ugh, this was going to haunt him for days on end. He sighed inwardly, laughing dryly at his own thoughts.

_'The things I do for the good of this world.'_

She was standing in front of him now, her face only centimeters from his own, "Are you sure you want me to touch you, Draky? I mean, you think I'm disgusting and filthy and a nasty mudblood totally unfit for your hands." She smiled, it was a hopeful smile. Draco squirmed, and his stomach was threatening to tell the world how uncomfortable he was.

He sucked in a deep breath, and grasped the back of Granger's head, crashing their lips together for a few moments and then throwing her backwards, thoroughly displeased with the contact.

Let the storm come.

"DRACO!" She howled, stumbled backwards, and fell on her face.

_'Mm, can Pansy do anything else to piss off Granger in one night?'_

"Er, what?" He whispered, shaking from the effort he it took to not scream his head off and beat the hell out of Pansy for putting him in such a position. He loved the girl like a sister, but this was just cruel. Hermione had dropped into a crab like crawl, moving backwards until her head hit the wall, and she gaped at him. Her arms were making odd jerking movements. Granger was fighting.

She was pinned against the wall, and beneath her raging eyes, he could make out the fear that was Granger. Somehow, somewhere, in the pit of his gut, he was pleased. Pleased that she was just as horrified as he was, and he wasn't going to suffer tonight alone in terrible dreams of kissing Hermione Granger. Draco heard a noise behind him, and he whipped around as a hand appeared from beneath the bed; behind it came a very angry Pansy Parkinson. She hissed something at Hermione and the woman behind him burst into tears, seemingly released from the charm.

"Draco! How could you kiss...her...that...that...that thing?!" She howled, her eyes wide and angry, and Draco's innards flinched at what he'd just done.

"What the fuck is wrong with you Pansy? Throwing her at me like that!" He nearly lost his perfect composure—nearly.

Pansy glowered at him, refusing to drift, "I cannot believe you kissed her Draco! Why would you ever touch that worthless piece of trash?"

Draco's eyes narrowed and he was finding himself hard-pressed to contain his anger at Pansy's expense. "Because it would make you come out from playing your little game, Pansy, that's why." She recoiled, but her eyes were glaring murderous things at Hermione.

"Fine! I'm out!" She shrieked, but her features had visibly relaxed and she glanced at Draco, smiling a charming grin, and turned back to Hermione. "I...I came here to warn you Draky. Lucius was so mad, he was shaking tonight. They know about your arm; everyone knows now. Draco you have to leave Hogwarts. I can't watch you die." She whispered softly, her eyes welling and threatening to spill. "I can't watch you die, but I can't turn on my family. I thought I could get Granger to scare you off, but," Her eyes darkened threateningly here, "...it didn't work quite as I had plan."

"Pansy, darling, you really are being a more of bitch today." He moved to turn towards Hermione, while Pansy glared at the girl with everything she mustered. She seemed to want very badly to see if you could set someone's body on fire with your eyeballs.

Hermione shrunk away from him, clinging to her knees as he advanced. "Shut up Granger, rest assured I have no attraction to you, and if it makes you feel any better, I feel like crying for having to kiss you too." He hissed, grabbing her arm and wrenching her to her feet. The ensuing battle, however, he did not expect.

Smack.

"Wha...?"

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Sma...

"GRANGER!" He howled, grabbing her wrist and pushing her back towards the wall. "Stop it! What is your problem?" He hissed, his cheeks burning and his right eye was irritably watering as if she'd scratched it.

"Don't you dare touch me you filthy bastard! Don't you dare!" She shrieked, her hair bouncing around her as she stamped, and she moved to hit him again.

"Filthy?" He growled, jolting her roughly against the wall, "I should have let her keep you under that damned spell. It would have prevented me from having to taint my lips with your worthless ones!" He hissed, digging his fingernails into her skin.

"Malfoy, that hurts!" She shrieked, "And I would have preferred to be kept under that damned spell than be subjected sitting still while you kiss me!" She cried, shoving him away from her and skipping sideways.

His reply was unknown however, because at that point Pansy decided to voice her presence with a very prissy, "Granger, you selfish...! Draco is in danger here and you want to cry because he kissed you?" Though Draco made a move to hush her, Hermione beat him to it. Stalking past him, she landed a rather forceful blow to her face.

"Shut up, you bitch!" She breathed heatedly, watching the blood flow from Pansy's lip.

Draco's jaw fell and he stared at her.

Wow...

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up you stupid, arrogant, ignorant, conceited, ugly as hell bitch!" Hermione shrieked, smacking Pansy as often as her huffing breath would allow her.

_'Who taught the woman to punch like that?'_

"Granger!" He called bitterly, though Hermione seemed to not hear it, as she was feuding relentlessly with Pansy.

Draco took a step back, and stared at the battling women. He'd much rather go blow-to-blow with Potter or Weasely, than one of these girls. They were throwing themselves at each other faster than he could see them. Just then Pansy made a lunge for the lush of brown at Hermione's back and wrapped a fistful of her locks around, landing blow after blow towards Hermione's face and neck area.

Hermione screamed and threw a painful jab at Pansy. Draco didn't know whether to laugh, scream, or save one of them, but which one? Pansy was straddling Hermione, scratching and raking the skin off of her arms and throat. Hermione was howling in fury and punching and slapping everything her hands could reach, and the both of them were spewing words too fast for Draco to catch. He did catch however, the flap of skirts and shirts of the two women, and his male instincts began banging on the front door.

His usual cocky grin returned full glare as he watched them. He'd just taken a renewed interest in Pansy.

At her back, Hermione was regaining her footing, cuts and bruises forming swiftly on her face, neck, and partly exposed chest area, her arms and legs didn't look much happier.

"You're disgusting!" Pansy hissed manacingly, though it came out as an exhausted threat of little demeanor. She was tired, but she wasn't going to let the girl go unpunished for putting anything of her filthy inheritance on Draco Malfoy—her Draco Malfoy. Hermione groaned and rose to her feet; she pulled her self into a tiny sitting position, cradled her stomach and tried as much as she could to withhold the meal she and Draco had just indulged in.

"You heard me, mudblood? Disgusting! I'm going to kick your ass for screwing up my plan!" She hissed, and lunged at Hermione's sunken form.

Hermione yelped, and Pansy slung an arm around her waist, pulling Hermione into a hug-ish sort of for, though the hugging bit was destroyed utterly when the beatings began again.

"You stupid girl! I didn't touch him. You had me under Imperius. You did it!" Hermione cried, struggling to regain some sort of footing. She'd never been in a fight before, not like this brawl, and it was exhausting her quickly.

She was a bloody mess, so was Pansy, and the both of them were breathing heavily. "You're both idiots." Their heads snapped up, two pairs of brown eyes glared holes into Draco's face. "Stupid females," he muttered, and offered a hand to Pansy while Hermione gently addled herself the will power to climb to her feet all her own.

When at last she made it to her feet, Pansy released a low cry and dealt a swift kick to her leg, landing Hermione back on the floor on one knee. Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further, trying to steer Pansy somewhere out of Hermione's wrathful circumference.

He tipped her rather harshly on the edges of the white bed, rustling the tart sheets as she sat. "How did you get in here, why are you in here, and please explain what in the hell possessed you to use an unforgivable on the Head girl in the middle of Hogwarts."

Pansy's attention was snapped to him, and she growled lightly, but flung her straight obsidian locks back across her shoulders and lifted her face in a haughty gesture, despite her labored breathing and multitudes of cuts and abrasions all over her exposed flesh. "I got in here because of that charm you gave me over the summer holidays. Do you remember?"

Draco nodded, his face impassive, and his thoughts just as blank. "Why did you come up here?" Pansy sneered at Hermione, who was once again making a desperate attempt to climb to her feet, and returned her attention to the blonde hovering before her.

"Draco..." Her voice was quiet, strained.

"We're being summoned. Every member within the circle is being summoned, oh god Draco. He's sending them all here in the morning. His orders are dead or alive; he doesn't care. You know these people! You know what they'll do to get in with him, Draky. Oh god I don't want to watch my best friend die!" Pansy was whimpering; tears were spilling down her reddened cheeks from the brawl with Hermione. She chanced a glance at Hermione but she was in a fit of her own agony and thought little of her position to squeal her secrets.

Her voice had suddenly taken on an odd faintish squeak to it, and she remained at a loss for color in her face, but Draco nodded as if it was they were discussing their favorite colors. Pansy had a brief moment of distress flash her usually still features, but Draco noticed, and he felt a jolt of something through his chest.

"Draco I can't watch you die. I can't, but I can't go turn against them. They'll kill me too. I did the only thing I could think of; I tried to make someone else to get you to leave. Draco, I can't!" She howled again, tears reforming in the well beneath her lids, "Draco, I can't...I can't watch you die and know I did nothing to stop it..." She was sobbing now, her arms wrapped around her body tightly. He was staring at her, a slight mortification washing over him.

"Pansy, darling, shh...it's all right." He whispered, wrapping both arms around her, and pulling her close to him. "Pansy, it's ok, I won't die. I uh..." He chanced a glance at Hermione, who now had a very confused expression on her face, as though she couldn't quite grasp the fact that Pansy had feelings.

"Um, I think there is something you should know darling," he whispered, drawing away from her only slightly. "Granger knows. The Heads' dormitory was attacked, and she was the first one to find it last night. She was thinking about how to get me out of Hogwarts and into somewhere safe, some place of Potter's." The girl had gone rigid, but as he finished his explanation the color in her cheeks returned in full, and her tears welled again.

"Potter. If anyone can get you away from him it'll be Potter," she whispered, staring into his grey eyes for what she thought would be her last time. "Draco, I love you, you know?" Draco drew in a hiss, and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. "Like a brother. A big, prat of a man, damn gorgeous, brother." Her eyes closed briefly as she returned the warmth, and they stayed like that for several minutes.

He choked a laugh at her words, and suddenly remembered that they weren't alone. Granger was witnessing this show of affection. He drew away, and Pansy too seemed to have remembered the presence of the other girl.

"Parkinson..."

Pansy narrowed her eyes at Hermione, but made no move to harm her anymore. "Pansy." She corrected, now standing, though dangerously teetering.

"He won't die. Harry is one of the most powerful wizards alive, and Malfoy will be under his protection. He'll come back safe." She offered a tiny smile, the best she could give to a girl that had just beat the daylights out of her, but Pansy contemplated her for a moment, as if measuring her words. She was pleased apparently, because she tilted her head in Hermione's direction, and whipped her wand out. Hermione had a jolt of fear pass through her; after all she was at the other receiving end of a wand which was at a Death Eater's direction. But Pansy muttered something inaudible, and Hermione felt the strength in her body return slowly, until she was no longer shaking.

"Granger." Pansy's eyes were narrowed, and glittering in inky danger, "If you go back on your word, about him coming back safe, I'll personally take your life." She hissed, and, throwing one last terrified look at Draco, left the room. Hermione squeaked, and glanced at Draco with her eyes wide as dinner plates.

"Oh dear..."

He grinned at her, and tilted his head towards the door. "You know, Granger, I didn't think reading day and night could teach you to hit like that. Must be the weight of all the books you tote around that gave you that strength." She glared at him, but didn't comment; instead she turned to other matters.

"Tonight, she said. Malfoy that means we have to leave...now," she whispered, her eyes wide. "We need to find McGonagall, this minute." And with that she ran to the door, throwing it open, Draco close on her heels.

Running through the corridors, the two of them ran as fast as they could, and once again Draco was taken aback at the physical endurance Hermione could put out. He was a practiced quidditch player, Hermione on the other hand, walked to the library to the great hall to her dorm and that was the extent of her exercise program, to his knowledge. He didn't comment though, merely pondered to himself and thus nearly ran smack into her back when she came to a sudden halt.

"She's not here," Hermione murmured, glancing about as if the Headmistress would appear from within the bowels of a wall. "Why is she not here? It's nearly midnight. Where else could she possibly be?" Draco was also curious as to where the Headmistress was at this particular time of night, but he knew his own Head of House—well, who had at one point been his Head of House—often liked to patrol the corridors of the castle in search of rule-breaking students. It was rather cruel, like a game of cat and mouse, but then again, that was Severus. He often did cruel things.

Hermione's mind was on other things at the moment though, and she hurtled down the corridors as fast as her feet would carry her, her mind buzzing in particularly indecisive waves. The hospital wing was her next bet, and she found herself standing before the doors. She saw something was a bit wrong with it. Even at night the doors were usually lit with some glow, but the room was completely black; not a shred of hollowed lightness was shining through the spaces in the hinges or beneath the frame.

She pushed the doors open and stepped briskly into the silent room. Not even a shadow could be seen within the room, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she walked. There was something wrong with the scene she had just walked into. Madame Pomfrey was obviously not in her office; there was not a soul in the beds, and at Hogwarts, there was never not a student lying freshly wounded in the hospital wing, or at least recovering.

"Er...hello?" Draco called from behind her, also noticing the uncanny stillness that possessed the room. "Let's check the Great Hall then; maybe something's happened before hand. You heard Pansy." Hermione nodded, and turned as soon as the words left his mouth. Draco on the other hand, was still studying the bleakness of the room, and suddenly found a girl considerably shorter than him pressed against him.

The contact was only for the briefest of time, as Hermione shrieked rather piercingly and jumped an impressive height up. "Sorry." She murmured, and pushed past him. Draco glared at her retreating backside, but refrained from commenting. It had been over too suddenly to think into it, though it was simply an uncomfortable moment between them.

They both had odd expressions on their faces as they drew near the Great Hall. They had obviously found where the teachers were, but judging from the sound of the noise, it was as if the entire school was in the Hall. How could that be? And then McGonagall's voice broke through, and Hermione's heart fell to the floor.

"I've wakened you all, to have to tell you, that Hogwarts can no longer remain open."

Draco actually stepped back, staring at the door as if it had come alive and spoken to him. Hermione's eyes had a bewildered glaze to them, and beneath them, even he could see the coming storm.

"Earlier this night, I discovered the entry to the Head dormitory shredded, much as some of you will remember, happened four years ago, presumably, by Sirius Black.

"However Black was only able to rip the portrait. But these are no standard paintings. Each of those in Hogwarts are alive, much as you and I are; they talk, they remember, they learn, they know. And in doing so it is no easy feat to damage one, and my dears, the one guarding the Heads' dorm has been severely damaged."

Draco felt queasy; she knew. They all knew. Oh god, now they were going to kick him out of Hogwarts, to the mercy of his father and his master. Lucius would only beat him up; maybe throw a Crucio at him for good measure. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but his father would never kill him; everything he'd ever done to Draco had been reversible. Voldemort said dead or alive. In the minds of a Death Eater, this meant point blank dead.

"Fuck..."

Draco's eyes snapped open; Granger was continuing to amaze him as the times passed. She just...

"We have to get you out of here Malfoy. Do you realize what will happen once they catch wind that the school is closing down? They'll come tonight! We need you out of here, and right now." Her voice was hoarse, and her eyes were just barely retaining the mass of water they held, but he nodded in her direction curtly before McGonagall's voice broke through once again; some of her words had been drowned in the moments they had spent musing over his fate.

"And by all means, I will be damned if someone dares threaten my students while my heart still beats!"

Hermione wrought a smile from the depths of her Gryffindor heart, and she sent it Draco's way. "She'll be one to reckon with, you know." She grinned wickedly at him, and he had no idea what she was talking about. But something was bubbling in Draco's stomach, something along the lines of morbid fear. He hadn't quite forgotten the words...that Hogwarts was closing. Hogwarts...closing...

She was speaking again, and the both of them found themselves edged to the door.

"...bastion of faith for the world, a continuation of the wizards' legacy. Tonight that bastion has been invaded, and has fallen."

Hermione's eyes grew large, and for just a moment Draco thought she would burst into tears, but the emotions in McGonagall's statement also found Draco wrestling with something he very rarely felt, much less towards someone like their Headmistress. And then, Draco swore he'd seen everything looking back that night. Hermione snarled and punched the door. He had the decency to jump back, or she simply really did startle him.

Her face was contorted into something Draco found very interesting; Granger was undoubtedly, without a shadow of nothing short of sheer certainty, pissed. Her eyes which, he knew for a fact, we brown, were now blacker then the ink he wrote with. Her mouth was twisted in a smooth, pursed line that screamed something worthy of his scowl, but her posture... Draco was absolutely positive he'd never seen her in anything near that stance. Even when she'd punched him in their third year, she had never radiated so much anger.

And he in turn, upon seeing her malevolent glare, felt the emotions in his own gut swirl over and over, churning with the wrath that had been feuding in his belly since he had awoken to find Granger beside him. Time to vent. Good time to vent. He met her gaze again, and between the two of them, they could have electrocuted something. The emotion that poured off them were wrapped them both in heat, in toxic, blinding, red, rage.

She growled, and shoved the doors open. "Honestly, Headmistress, you act is if we have no hope." He felt her beside him, the two of them striding towards the face of the hall. He'd never heard Granger talk to a teacher with such flat arrogance, even against Snape. The Great Hall fell silent, and the entire school had its eye on the pair of them. McGonagall's head shot up, and she stared at the advancing couple.

"Don't you dare. Hogwarts has not fallen, and it never will." Draco snarled, he'd never felt so...alive. There was an energy writhing in the pit of his belly that made him almost glide across the floor. He was trembling with fury, and the woman at his side was no different. She stared at them, tears running down her cheeks as she choked back a sob, and smiled at him. "It never will."

The hall suddenly erupted in cheers, but the two of them felt nothing. It was all very odd that they could share anything—even when intoxicated with anger. And quite suddenly, it faded. The energy that had kept him practically tiptoeing in explicit dances left him, and beside him Hermione nearly toppled to the ground.

"What?" He whispered, feeling shamelessly weak and empty. What had that been all about? Hermione looked just as perplexed, but said nothing.

Argus Filch found his way into the hall, and began signaling for the prefects to join him. McGonagall lifted her head and smiled. "I wish all of you my sincere apologies for having to ship you off. As if I have not been tormented with enough troubles tonight, your Head Girl and Boy have just informed me that the shameless act of defeat you've just witnessed is nothing more than a woman's emotions. Hogwarts will be here whenever it's safe again, and it's doors will be open to all of you." She looked warmly at the Slytherin table, and they shot her shy smiles, though many simply ignored her.

"Hufflepuff! First Years! This way!" Filch was screaming over the clamor that had taken over the hall again, and the children began to file out.

McGonagall watched them sadly for a moment, and then turned her back, beckoning the staff to her, along with Hermione and Draco. They filed into a small room adjoined to the Great Hall through an almost invisible door settled behind a rather prominent statue. Draco and Hermione were the last to enter the room, and immediately the atmosphere changed to something seething deadly silence.

"Minerva, what is the meaning of this? How could you tell them such things?" Flitwick immediately asked, and the room seemed to jump at the sting of his words.

"Because they deserve to know," came her tired response, and she patted a loveseat lathered in a giant quilt that was canary yellow. "We are no longer in the brink of war, my friends. We are in it."

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_A/N: Aha, this is my favorite chapter out of the whole thing. XD Go Hermione Vs. Pansy! & Whips out her pompoms & _


	8. Minerva

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_8: Minerva _**

* * *

****

"RON!"

Harry screeched as he looked behind him, and perhaps twenty feet beneath him, he could see Ron's white face, growing smaller, and smaller. Harry's stomach dropped with him. "Oh god..." he whispered, losing his grip and balance for a moment; Ginny fell.

"Harry James Potter if you don't wake up this minute, I'm going to punch you on the nose." came a hiss from his left, making Harry bolt into consciousness. He was trembling from head to toe, and his green eyes were drowned dangerously in the storm of tears writhing within him. The pain. Oh god, the pain he'd felt when he'd realized Ron had fallen.

But Ron hadn't fallen, he was squatting beside Harry, whispering into his ear and threatening to punch him in the face. In a bout of fear that he hadn't felt for a very long time, Harry seized him at once and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Ron squeaked, and patted him lightly on the back. "Harry!" He cried after a few moments, as Harry's embrace threatened not to loosen. "Harry, what is it? Why are you crying?"

Harry drew back, still trembling viciously. "Oh god," he whispered. Forcing himself to slide off the bed, his knees buckling as soon as his feet hit the hard wood floor, he found himself on all fours, vomiting his dinner. Ron stared at him for a moment, before placing a gentle hand on his back and rubbing it in tiny circles. "Hey mate, come on now. What's the big deal?" His tone was lathered in concern and a hint of fear. He'd never witnessed Harry in such a state. "What the hell did you dream about that could make you sick to your stomach?"

Harry turned to gaze at him, his eyes filled with tears. "You fell. You fell, and I dropped Ginny," he whispered hoarsely.

Ron stared at him. "What do you mean I fell? And why did you drop Ginny?" He was a bit confused, but anything that could make Harry sick to his stomach and clammy like he was could have been bad. "We were...were spying, on something. The three of us, and we got caught. Firebolt. We were all on my Firebolt. And it was raining. Storming. Like a hurricane. And Ginny was hanging on to my hand; we couldn't get the broom straight. She was hanging on and crying and begging me not to let her go. And it all went very cold. It was like a hurricane. Lightning. So much rain. I couldn't."

His voice was hitching in random intervals. He felt the familiar wrench in his gut and found himself on his knees again, losing the acids of his stomach now. "I couldn't. It was so wet. We had to escape. And it was so cold. But I didn't know it was cold. You were behind me. And then it all went cold. And I looked back, and you were falling. And then I dropped Ginny." He whispered, his voice shaking, and Ron was staring at him in a way that made him wish he could spout an extra head just to make him look elsewhere.

"Blimey," Ron whispered, his gaze locking with Harry's. And like Harry, he found himself wrenching the boy to him in an embrace that made Harry shudder with the protectiveness it exuded. "It's all right, Harry. I know you wouldn't really drop Ginny. It was just a nightmare. I'm not going to just lop off a broom anyways." His breath shuddered as Harry's eyes remained behind his. So terrified.

When he had heard of the dream and remembered the look Harry had given him as he had first awoke, something had swarmed in his gut; something he often felt over Harry, a bond of friendship that exceeded a normal companionship. He'd felt it often, but never in this amount, never this intense. He just watched Harry collapse onto a floor, lose his dinner and something else his stomach didn't want to know about, cry, shake, tremble, and looked haunted—for him.

The feeling had exploded, and he'd grabbed Harry in the roughest embrace either of them had ever been trapped in, and held him until the other boy stilled in his arms and drew away. They both blushed dramatically as they pulled apart, but the comradeship they felt towards the other exuded anything an awkward moment could produce. Ron now knew why his father was so terribly protective even over the bothersome twins.

That feeling, of having to protect something with the very soul of his being, had erupted in a fierceness Ron didn't know he'd possessed. He smiled at Harry, and scooted off the bed, waving his wand at the nasty mess on the floor to clear it away. "It's alright mate, we're all fine and alive. Ginny is in her bed snoring and kicking the walls, and I'm right here. Your broomstick is locked away, and it's the clearest night out since we left the school. Go back to sleep." He smiled genuinely at Harry now, that warmth in his stomach returning full force, and it must have shone through his features, because Harry visibly relaxed and his eyes lost the haunted look he'd woken with.

"Ron?" He called quietly as the red-head began to sift into his own bed on the other side of the room.

"Yeah, Harry?" He breathed, stopping in his act of pulling the covers to look back at his friend through the shining light of the stars that glittered through the window.

"Thanks." He could almost hear the smile in Harry's voice; innocent, thankful Harry.

Ron nodded and grinned as he crawled into bed. "You drop me again I may not be so comforting. Now shut up and go to sleep."

Harry laughed, and curled beneath his own covers again, "All right then."

And they drifted into the arms of comfortable sleep.

The room was silent for a moment, and then it seemingly exploded. "Minerva!" She sighed to herself, and found a comfortable seating position in the circle of her staff.

"There is no mistaking the signs. You are all very aware of the magical properties within the portraits at Hogwarts. The level of magic required to rip a canvas into pieces is immense; the perpetrators were not kids. These were full-grown wizards and witches attacking the school. They have made the first move."

Hermione was clinging to her words, and suddenly found herself thinking of the book she'd lifted from the library. I wonder if the creator is in that book.

"Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall's rigid tone streaked through her thoughts, and Hermione found herself at rapt attention. "Headmistress?"

"I am aware of your current situation regarding your father, and his...employer. This is your problem to confront, Draco."

The blonde drew his breath in tightly, and pulled himself to look her in the eye. This was it, he was going to die tonight, and Pansy would mutilate Granger when they found his body. Well, at least he could die with that happy thought.

"However, I am also aware of the fact that Ms. Granger is aware of your problem, and that she has extended her skills in your aid. This places her in danger, along with yourself." Hermione made an odd noise of indignation, but otherwise remained silent.

"I've ensued a safe house to shelter the both of you until we are certain you will not come to immediate harm should you leave. However, Draco, in light of the reasons as to why you are under these circumstances to begin with, you shall be placed under strict house arrest. You will not be in possession of your wand, charms will be placed on items of magical remittance such as another's wand to prevent you from gaining access, and you will have someone in the shelter with yourself and Ms. Granger at all times."

Draco growled, but kept his whirling thoughts, which were mostly deliriously angry remarks about himself.

"Mr. Malfoy." She prodded him once again, and he was half expecting to hear something along the lines of being bound and gagged for the duration of the war.

"I will need to see your mark."

That was even worse.

"Headmistress?" He breathed, stepping back a pace.

"The Dark Mark, Draco. I need to see what has been done to cause such mayhem." She stepped towards him, left hand drawn out to him.

He stood very rigid suddenly, pulling himself up to meet her. It's not like it was a secret. His entire family was heralded from the Dark Arts; Voldemort was just one more master of them. But he never intended to show it off; that would be just a bit too bold, foolish. McGonagall asked him to pull his sleeve up, and when he hesitated, she glared at him.

"Mr. Malfoy I am not playing games. Show me the Dark Mark this instant!" Draco scowled and reached up, tilting the sleeve of his shirt downwards and exposing his bicep.

"What is this?" McGonagall asked suddenly. Draco glared at her, but refused to indulge her questioning.

"Mr. Malfoy, what is this? Why is your mark not in the usual location?" She prodded his flesh with the tip of her wand, as if to see if it was real.

"I don't know."

She glared at him while her wand suddenly found itself shining in the space between his eyes. "Mr. Malfoy, I am extending the Order's aid to you. Now give me the answers I seek lest I be inclined to not trust you and ship you home to your parents." Her voice was loud, and the room found itself waiting intently for Draco's words; words that never came.

After many minutes, McGonagall drew herself to her full height, and nodded towards the residing potions master. "Slughorn, I believe a vial of Veritaserum is in order, if you please." The round-bellied man nodded hastily in her direction, and produced two small vials from his robe; one was unmistakably the requested potion, while the other was a curious red-tinged substance, almost pink in its liquid state.

Draco growled openly at the offer, but before he could speak, he found himself shoved dramatically down upon a nearby chair, and a vial of truth serum dropped down his throat.

"Now. Mr. Malfoy, we will begin again." McGonagall conjured a chair directly opposite of his, while everyone in the room silenced as they focused their attention on the boy.

"What is your name?" She began briefly, after collecting her thoughts and the necessary questions to ask of a seventeen-year-old boy.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

McGonagall nodded once and continued her investigation. "Did you willingly accept the Dark Mark?" This would be vital to their cause, whether it was worth the effort to hide the boy.

"I don't know."

She snapped to attention and peered at the blonde as if he had sprouted several heads. "You don't know?"

Draco nodded in her direction, and blinked at her innocently.

"How is it that you don't know if you willingly received the Dark Mark, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I was unconscious when it occurred."

She nodded. "I see, and why were you unconscious?"

Draco blinked once again, and began his tale. "My father came home early from one of his tasks, and he was in his study when I approached him. After a brief chat about home doings and the latest gossip, he asked me if I was ready. Before I could answer, I found myself shoved into the wall opposite of where I had once been standing, a great force behind me. I thought I was going to die, it was crushing me so. And then it all went black. When I awoke, I had the Dark Mark, admittedly not in the correct location, but it was there, and I was in my own bed."

A thousand questions sprang up over the room, though no one dared to ask a single one.

"Mr. Malfoy, I see that the Dark Mark has sustained several mishaps, I was under the impression that this was impossible. Many reformed members would pay thousands to have it removed. What did you do?"

"I was given a potion. Limporius they called it."

McGonagall went ash white, and her lips were reduced to razor thin lines. "I see. Who gave you this potion?"

"I'm not sure. There were seven..."

"Seven who? And where were you when you were given the potion?"

"Seven Death Eaters; I was in the Forbidden forest."

One would think the Headmistress couldn't get any paler, but she found a way to compete with the crisp white sheets that were the hospital wings linens.

"You met seven Death Eaters on Hogwarts grounds?" she hissed, staring at him bewilderedly.

"Yes."

"What was said and what occurred during this...meeting?"

"They met me in our usual location, and I was informed of the latest updates within the circle. The death of a traveling wizard that carried documents regarding the innermost dimensions of the Ministry's headquarters, Ymir Hackelburn, I believe was the man's name. Several muggle families that were killed in order to obtain something. They were all related; the object in pursuance wasn't found for several homes.

Then I was handed a potion called Limporius, and I was told to concentrate on things on or in my body that were flaws, imperfections. When I questioned them, I was given a vague answer; something about the Dark Lord needing a perfect flesh to draw from. I drank the potion, and when I cleared my head, I found that my left arm was bleeding. The Dark Mark was beginning to dissolve. I immediately ran, but I'm sure the others had seen what occurred."

The room was eerily silent for a brief moment before McGonagall resumed her questioning.

"You said your usual spot, where is this located?"

Draco glared at her. "As if I'd tell you."

She jumped, and frowned at Slughorn. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. It seems your time is up. I will need your wand, and Professor Flitwick will escort you to the Great Hall. You will find your things packed and waiting your arrival. You will then be escorted to a safe house, where Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, accompanied by several other Order members, will be waiting your arrival."

She stood, and nodded towards Flitwick, "Ms. Granger will join you in the coming days."

Draco sulked into the Great Hall, but otherwise did not comment. Hermione was completely unprepared for the onslaught to her person.

"Ms. Granger, I have always applauded your ability within the academic range. You have even shown a talent alongside Mr. Potter. I, however, am deeply appalled at your actions this past fortnight. You were seen in the company of a Death Eater by a member of his own circle! You helped him without our knowledge. Ms. Granger, do you realize the dangers you've placed yourself in?

Malfoy is a wanted man; his scale is along side Potter's! How could you be so foolish as to try to help him on your own? Do you realize the danger Harry will be in when You-Know-Who finds out that he knows where he's being kept? Have you forgotten that we are playing with lives, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione was trapped in a whirlwind. The guilt that surfaced when her Headmistress had rounded on her bubbled over, and she found herself shaking visibly. She hadn't meant to harm anyone; she'd only meant for Malfoy to heal up and go on his way, wherever that was. Harry and Ron were never supposed to know about it, this wasn't fair! She'd done the good thing, why was she suddenly feeling as if she'd done the wrong thing?

"But professor! He was injured! He was bleeding badly and I was frightened. He... I did the only thing I could think to do; I helped him. I think he did something in return... I was knocked unconscious and I woke up today with a tingly feeling in my head. He's innocent, professor! I heard his story!"

McGonagall contemplated Hermione's statement for a few moments before waving her hand at her. "It was a foolish thing to do, Ms. Granger. You've placed yourself in a situation that you will be hard-pressed to get out of. However, I am...I am pleased you were able to help him. Mr. Malfoy will be a valuable asset to the Order's informative counter, willingly or not."

Hermione nodded once, and squirmed, "Professor, you said in a few days... What am I supposed to do before then?" McGonagall took her appearance in shrewdly, and nodded as if to confirm a theory.

"I trust you've heard the potion Mr. Malfoy took? Limporius?"

Hermione nodded again and settled herself. "I have, but I've never actually seen it. I suppose it's something too dark to study."

McGonagall nodded, "Indeed. I am giving you full access to the library within Hogwarts, the Restricted Section is at your disposal. Ms. Granger, I need you to compile a detailed report of what's required to make the potion, any listed antidotes to remove any lingering traces in Mr. Malfoy's body, and a full account of the symptoms, side-affects, and potential uses.

I would see to the task myself, but I'm needed in other locations. Madam Prince will assist you in your task; I'll need the report in three days' time."

Hermione nodded in her direction, assuming a business-like manner the moment she caught wind of her assignment. Beside her, Professor Sprout rose to her feet.

"Headmistress, Minvera... If you don't mind, I think we'd like to know what's going on."

She tapped her foot impatiently, and as McGonagall scanned the room, she found several of her employees in the same state.

"Very well. As you noticed, Draco Malfoy was given a potion in Hogwarts grounds; a very dark and powerful potion to fulfill his role in a plan by You-Know-Who. He was given a set of instructions, and he went beyond, and caused damage, or more accurately, erased part of his Dark Mark.

The workings of the potion allow that anything in the flesh the body does not want can be removed. Young Malfoy obviously rejected the Mark being on his flesh, at least partially, because of the damage it instated. The Death Eaters accompanying him at this meeting had seen what happened, and informed their master of the workings. Lucius and You-Know-Who are undoubtedly furious with him, I am assuming it is they that sent someone to the school tonight.

I don't know what the assailants' intentions were; to kill him, kidnap him, scare him back into servitude, the possibilities are endless. Somewhere in the mix, Ms. Granger here stumbled upon him when he was freshly injured, and aided him. Choosing to avoid the infirmary, no doubt because of his Mark, she was seen with him, and has thus placed herself in danger alongside him.

This ties directly into the war, because it has forced them to make the first move – they've brought the conflict within Hogwarts walls. The children are safely on their way home, the parents have been issued emergency warnings, muggle-born children especially. Scrimegour is an old hat but he is no fool; he was owled immediately, as well as our companions in the north.

The Professors of Beauxbatons will be arriving shortly, and have offered their full services in light of a recent murder to a child that was to attend their institute. With Karkaroff dead, it would be safe to assume that Durmstrang will be consumed in children of Death Eaters – it is within their curriculum to teach a select portion of Dark Arts magic, and it will no doubt be expanded now that the war has begun.

At last, my friends, and on a professional level, my staff, I will not ask any of you to stay here. I realize that some of you have family members, and yes, the school will open its doors to those of you that need shelter – Firenze, you need not enter the Forbidden Forest again, Hogwarts is your home as long as you see fit to call it so. The same is applied to all of you, not a soul here will turn back to you if you decide to take leave, and when Hogwarts reopens for the next school term your former post will be made available to you."

The room stayed deathly still until her closure, into which it exploded in a hoarse outrage of whispers and half-hearted shouts.

"Beauxbatons? What of their children? Have we all collapsed but Durmstrang?"

"Indeed."

"Good heavens! The last war lasted eleven years! You mean to tell me our children will know nothing unless we choose to school them amidst Death Eaters? The muggle-borns will be completely without knowledge!"

"We did not have Harry Potter in the last war!"

"He's only a boy! They are all only children! How can you pin our success on a seventeen-year-old boy?"

"Surely you read the papers! He's not only The-Boy-Who-Lived, he is the Chosen One! He'll be the downfall of You-Know-Who, you'll see!"

"Well of course I read the papers, but you've had Potter in your class for six years, as I have, he's no more talented then the next student. He's got a few perks yes, but he's no legend in the classroom; he's shown no aptitude for Herbology. I daresay, my best student was Neville Longbottom."

"This new rift with the Malfoy boy, I have my doubts. There hasn't been a clean Malfoy since...well since the Malfoy line begun!"

"Indeed, and I've taught him. He's the spitting portrayal of his father; arrogant, snobbish, horribly rude, not bad marks though."

In the farthest corner, McGonagall could be found rubbing her temples and murmuring to herself.


	9. Through the Eyes of the Dream

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_9: Through the Eyes of the Dream_**

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****

Within the rooms of twelve Grimmauld, sat a crowd, awaiting a new member of the group forced to spend their time in the shambles of what had once been a happy circle. In the center sat Harry Potter, absently flicking the fingernail of his middle finger against his thumb, narrowing and opening his green eyes, staring at the door to his left along with the rest of the group.

Eventually it opened; And in the frame of the heavy door was one of the closest people to him, Remus Lupin, leading his enemy of six years by the collar, Draco Malfoy.

The blonde looked just as irked as he felt, staring out at the group with obvious contempt, his patented Malfoy smirk left not a trace, replaced with an all-out snarl. He wasn't here by choice, or was he? Harry couldn't place it. He'd asked them for help, he was told, but he tried to keep his secrets to himself. He wanted them to shelter him…but he didn't want to help them accomplish it?

It made no sense to him, and Ron had been just as perplexed. Yet Harry had witnessed the events of Dumbledore's death first-hand, he had watched as Malfoy had lowered his wand off and on, he knew that the blonde had hesitated, had never uttered the words to kill his mentor, he had even voiced his fears. Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater, not entirely.

He was Harry Potter, a seventeen year old boy, a celebrity, the claimed hero of the wizarding world, but before it all, in Dumbledore's words, he had the ability to love. Love constituted forgiveness, friendship, a continual trust in the wrongs of the world. Malfoy may have been a wrong, but Harry knew that his heart wasn't in his work, there was a tiny hole in the façade that he had witnessed, and he'd try to get through to his former school mate.

Ron had not been as understanding and Harry knew why, but he was, like Harry, a good person. He knew the upbringing that Malfoy had been given, and he had given in, in the end. So the two of them sat, tight-lipped and quiet, glaring back at the grey eyes that bore into them with the same guarded hate. Remus was the first to speak, tugging lightly at the boy's collar.

"Straight ahead is the kitchen and a washroom, beyond that isn't really any of your concern since the barriers erected around you don't allow you access to anything of a high magical quality

. To the left you'll find a spare room, no importance there, and a set of stairs. There are three rooms up there, the one farthest back is Harry and Ron's, the one nearest the stairs is yours, and the other is Ginny's and Hermione's. There's also a second washroom up there. Got it?"

Draco regarded the man before him for a moment, contemplating punching him in the lip, but he held it in check and nodded sullenly. In front of him, Harry stood, closely flanked by Ron, "Malfoy." He simply said, and tilted his head in Draco's direction before brushing past him and heading towards the hallway frame that led to the stairs. Draco glanced around once, before also turning on his heel and following the boys up the rickety set of wood.

Reaching the summit, he turned and walked towards the door leading to the room that would be his home for an unaccountable amount of time, and pushed the old and dusty piece of wood inwards, the creaking of it's ancient frame grinding on his taut nerves.. His things were stowed against the frame of a fragile looking twin sized bed, and he groaned audibly at it. His large king size bed at home was so much more tempting, and the rest of the room couldn't hold a candle to his beautiful and spacious living quarters at the manor.

The walls were white, peeling, and thus partially grey. There were no pictures, not even photos of old relatives. A small dresser stood in the corner, accompanied by a cracked mirror that was only half-length. A distraught rug with the weavings pulled out in various places sat on the floor, the color in it had long since melded together to form a nasty olive green influence, it resembled a pot of stomach acid.

Draco snorted, "Home sweet home." He stepped into the room, and shut the door behind him.

Across the hall, Ron and Harry were locked in a furious conversation. Ron had resorted to ranting about Draco's proximity to the girls; He was sleeping in between them and his little sister! Harry countered it with the fact that Draco was not allowed access to his wand, and that both Ginny and Hermione were fully capable of handling themselves against one seventeen year old wand-less boy.

"But Harry! You know his background! Innocent or not he's still a Death Eater, he still plays in the Dark Arts! Who's to say he isn't as good as Snape was in Occlumancy? What if this whol—"

Harry cut him off, whispering hoarsly, "Malfoy is not lying Ron, I know it for a fact."

At the red-head's glare Harry sighed heavily, and shook his head. "Honestly, I know you hate him but this childish bickering is going to drive all of us crazy, at least try to not shout at him continuously? I can't stand him as much as the rest of you, but I also don't want to be locked in a blood bath inside my own house!"

Ron glared at him for a moment longer before stepping back and flopping on his bed. "As long as he doesn't say a word to me, and stays away from my sister." Harry nodded his agreement, and they crawled back into their beds. Being woken at three A.M. was hardly a thing he wanted to do, and dozing for what he knew was to be the last peaceful night at Grimmauld was very tempting.

The following morning resulted in the first of many mishaps. Ron had crept out of bed and down the stairs in his usual early morning raid, only to catch sight of a brooding Draco in the frame of his bedroom. Obviously, a small war of stinging insults were thrown, which resulted in a tumble down the woody flight of stairs, Draco its landing pad.

When Harry was able to rouse himself from his perch, he was greeted with a loud moaning from Ron, a furious whisper belonging to Molly Weasley, and a hiss of pain from Draco. When he entered the kitchen, he was hard-pressed to hold his laughter in check.

Ron's hair was in a state of red-alert, Malfoy's silvery-blonde looked no better, and between them, Molly severely resembled the art of chicken pecking. In her hand was a lumpy strip of linen, which she was attempting to plaster to a bleeding flesh wound along Draco's temple, and he in turn would snarl or bat her away, to which she would cluck in a hennish manner and turn to her son. Brandishing her wand like a weapon, she'd wave it at his person to repair a wound, but only sparks would appear.

"I'm telling you woman, when he landed on me he touched that damned barrier they put on me, all you're doing is waving a stick at his face." Draco hissed, laughing pointedly as a stray spark found its way under Ron's lids and his face twisted in a moment of shock and pain. Molly clucked again and tried to resume her task of pasting the home-made bandage to Draco's head.

Harry withheld his comment, and his laugh, and entered the kitchen, seeking a breakfast. "Besides being confined to a house I hate, anything else planned for today? I was sort of hoping I could take my Firebol—"

Molly interceded his statement with a glare, "No." Before she turned that glare once more to Draco and stomped out of the room.

Harry's shoulders slumped and he padded towards a brown oak cabinet door settled high above the kitchen sink. "Maybe I'll just amuse myself with garden gnomes then." He hissed bitterly into a box of Puffskein Pancake (Vividly colorful for the kids!) mix. Extracting a packet, he poured the contents into a mixing bowl, and set it beneath the sinks tap to add the required amount of water.

Setting it on the countertop, he drew his wand and jabbed at the mix several inches above it, rewarded with a bright pink fluffy pancake set of three, and he turned towards the nearby pantry to hunt for the jar of syrup. Behind him, Draco watched him amusedly, and he choked a laugh at the burst of bright pink that peeked out of the side of the bowl. "Nice pancakes Potter."

Harry hissed at him and resumed his search. Finding the small container that never emptied, he dumped a generous helping to smother the color out, and settled at the far end of the table. Poking at it dully with the prongs of his fork, he cut a tiny section that wasn't drowning in liquid sugar and bit into it sourly. Beside him, Ron was gazing into the hallway, "Pink again?"

Harry glanced at Draco once before nodding sullenly into his bowl, "Yeah." Ron grinned at Harry and nodded towards Draco, "Wonder what his color will be." The blonde raised an eyebrow, and Harry nodded towards his red-head friend. "Dunno, I think the only thing worse then mine is poka-dotted pink." Draco narrowed his eyes at him, "S'matter Potter, don't like dots?"

Harry shook his head, "Hate blueberries."

Draco snorted, and Ron cracked a smile.

"Go on then, let's see what you get." Draco regarded them for a moment, before standing and making his way the length of the table, plucking the box from the counter, he sifted a packet from its depth and rummaged around for a plate.

Ripping the packaging open, he poured the mix onto the plate and added the necessary water.

Stepping back, he glanced at Ron and Harry, "I don't have my wand." Ron waved him off, "It'll mix on its own, it's a kid's food– you just speed up the process if you poke at it."

Draco turned back to his plate and watched the particles clump together and mix as if an invisible hand were pushing it together. "Never seen these before..." He commented offhandedly, and Ron grinned at his backside.

"Their brand new, if you'll read the bottom."

Draco scanned the colorful advertisement, and in moderate print at the base of the box were the words – "Product of Weasely Wizard Wheezes, consume at your own risk. (Test production)"

He glanced wearily at the forming dough and turned to Ron, "Test Production?" He implored, and Ron smirked. "Were always the test subjects to those two. Heh, nothing bad, you won't peel off and keel over if that's what you're letting on, but it's the first 'real' food product they've dabbled in, trying to make sure it can peacefully co-exist with the rest of the food normally stored in a cupboard, make sure it doesn't go bad at different room temperatures, stuff like that."

Draco nodded in his direction, and directly in front of him Harry was busily gobbling down his hot pink mix, licking the dripping syrup off the of the tip of his fork. The kitchen was silent for a few moments before a giggling sound emitted from the plate at Draco's back, and Ron burst into laughter.

At the sound, Harry turned around, along with Draco, and chuckled openly. "Potter, I think you lied about that bit about only being worse if it had blueberries." Harry nodded frantically while he laughed, as Draco's pancakes had erupted into a high-lighter yellow field, at the center of each was a child-imitated smiley face glazed in a cheery strawberry red.

"I'm not hungry suddenly." Draco said wistfully, and Ron nodded as he chuckled. The room fell silent again, and eventually Harry's slurping ceased. Ron waited for the abate of sugar consumption, and they rose together. "Er…we've got to go do some things…Molly will be here if ya need anything."

Draco turned his steel colored eyes on Harry and nodded shortly. Ron cast one last glance at the frighteningly yellow pancake stack, and left close on Harry's heels. In the hollow kitchen, Draco found himself smirking back at his fluffy sunlit bread mix, and sank his fork into the center of the smiling face. "To hell with it."

_"Liquid clear or grey in color, depending on the amount of…"_Hermione was bent heavily over the large tome in her lap, her dark hair filtered down the forces of gravity and the tips brushed the skin of her legs. She was nearly done with her report, and so far, she was sickened.

In front of her lay a scroll several feet long, her tidy scratch lathering it in tight sentences. There was so much to the potion, it was so complicated to create, so many rare and downright disgusting ingredients needed to make it. It took nearly a full three months to brew, only during the time the sun stood directly above the earth at a point deep in the mountains of unplottable territory, northern Sicily somewhere, could it be extracted from its brewing cauldron, and after several more additions were implemented would it reach potency.

Her brow was thick with accumulated sweat; the clasp she'd held her hair in had long since lost its grasp and the thick mass now tumbled around her greedily. She kept at her task though, and by the night's end she'd be done.

When at long last her scribbling had ceased, she reviewed her work. The potion was a vile, unholy brew of disgusting material even by a witches standard, and the complexity of it made it all the more frightening. Should an error occur in the calculations of the timing of the planets, or any other astronomical feat that affected the moods of the energy, the imbiber would never know until it was consumed, and they simply dropped dead.

The side-effects of consuming the potion were also horrendous, especially in the few cases where two or more different people took part in drinking of the same brew. They all seemed to have forged some types of connections at one point or another, and none of them seemed to be anything less then, at the very least, a severe pain in the ass.

_The brew known as Limporius was conceived as an attempt to rid the magical community of a certain malady we know as the Bubonic Plague during that era in history, unfortunately it's deviser was never recorded nor any thesis on how it was even brought into existence, thus we know very little about its factual origins. It can be said however, judging by the base of the potion being sheer energy itself, contained in a liquid form, that the deviser was at least slightly knowledgeable of the heavens, and the effects they have when properly captured at precise times and dates._

_It may also be said that the potion itself has changed since its conception in those dark days, and has effectively 'crossed over' from its original healing mentality, to being associated instantly with the dark arts. We are unsure as to who converted it's properties to serve a darker purpose, but it was not long after the magical community discovered that it didn't work for their diseased in it's original form before the recipe was tampered with, and the modern day Limporius was devised._

_Needless to say, the horrific version of the current potion did work to remove the corruption of the body that the Bubonic and other diseases caused. It also worked on blemishes, scars, disfigured bones or tissue, and internal damage. _

_The new version never gained popularity amongst the law-abiding classes of our community however, because of the ingredients required to concoct the brew, and the lingering side-effects the potion seems to incur almost sporadically._

_We shall examine, for instance, one particular case that occurred in the far reaches of Ireland, where an expectant mother drank the potion sometime during her pregnancy term, to rid herself of all scars (she had suffered minor scarring from a wizards duel in her youth) and other marks that would otherwise tarnish her looks._

_ Her vanity cost her a great deal however, as on the night she was sent into labor, she delivered a still-born child, the infant being marked with all of her flesh inflictions in the exact locations they had once stained her. She lost her sanity soon after, though we are unsure if it was because she felt she had inadvertently killed her unborn child, or if it was the potion itself that cost her mind._

_There are many other cases in history like this, though none as heart-wrenching. We see many lovers, where one had consumed the potion and through some type of physical contact, exchanged its vapors with their partner, and they would both spiral into madness, depression, or a permanent rage._

_The most often viewed case of an accidentally transfer lies with the Kitshell's; Liam and Grace of England herself. We are unsure as to how these two came into contact with the potion as all records of them report they were extremely poor, and had relatively few relatives; all who refused to speak to them._

_Our best guess is that they were involved with one sinister plot or another, and simply stumbled upon the prospect of being untarnished._

_After the potion was consumed, most likely it was transferred by a mere kiss, and they both began the descent into madness. We find near the end, reports of continuous screaming, fighting, dueling, and all-out murderous behavior._

_The skull of Liam Kitshell (At the time of this writing currently stored in the safety of Gringotts depths) has several depressions, indicating he was beaten with something, or possibly even a magical infliction that has died out since that ancient battle, though this was not the cause of his death. _

_Grace Kitshell suffered far more traumatic inflictions, though hers appear to have been all sustained within her mind. She was frequently seen attempting to fly off of her roof without any means other then the flapping of her arms, cooking meals without fire or any other device emitting heat, and had an on-going habit which frequented more and more the longer her life played out, of calling everyone she met, "Sodding Nutcases". _

_Strangely enough, even though both partners suffered extreme losses in their mental stability, neither one actually died directly from effects of the potion, as in all other documented cases. Though they were hundreds of miles apart in separate psychiatric wards, they both found ways to bring a quick end to their lives at exactly the same time._

_We are unsure as to whether or not the time they took leave of this life has any significant meaning other then the fact that they were more in-tune with each other then was previously thought possible through the haze of such intense mental breakdown. There have also been reports of several lin…"_

Hermione stopped her reviewing of the written essay here, disgusted that anyone could even think of using this potion when nothing but unnecessary evil had ever come of it, and nearly all of its drinkers had suffered the loss of their rational minds.

She carefully rolled the long fragment of parchment in her hand up, taking extreme care not to smudge the still drying ink, and tucked it neatly beneath her arm. Capping the lid of her inkwell and wiping the nib of her quill, she tucked both additions neatly away into an empty compartment of her bag, and stood, headed for McGonagall's office.

"Do you think it's safe for them?"

"Don't be foolish, your in a time of war, nothing is safe my dear." Came the husky reply, and Dumbledore's beady blue eyes peered over his painted glasses.

McGonagall sighed and laid her forehead into the cup of her clasped hands. "I've kept Granger here in the castle; I don't want her with him so quickly."

Dumbledore chuckled, "Indeed. Might I ask how you were able to keep such a strong friend away from her companions for so much time?"

She sighed again and turned her eyes to the large portrait portraying her former friend, "Work. I told her I needed her to do a report on the potion they gave to the boy."

He cracked a grin at her, "Ah. Playing your strong points, good for you!"

Happy with her extensive report of four feet and eleven and a half inches of parchment scroll, Hermione followed the well trekked path to headmistress' headquarters. She could have written more but the history and references of the seventeen known drinkers to survive it would have been no use to their need.

She whispered the password to the statue guarding her office and briskly stepped into the room. McGonagall was sitting in a padded red and gold armchair nestled in the farthest corner of the room, a bottle of sherry peeking out from her left hip, and in her right hand was a small shot glass.

"McGonagall?"

The head that had been lying back on the top of the recliner came up, and she smiled lightly at Hermione, "No need to be cautious Granger, I'm not drunk. Tempting, but I haven't given in yet."

Hermione smiled softly back at her and nodded, "I've completed the report."

McGonagall's grey eyebrows shot up, "Already?"

Hermione nodded and placed the long scroll delicately on the top of the desk between them. "I'm a little tired; I'm going to go to bed."

McGonagall nodded at her and set the small drinking glass in her hand down on the floor by her feet, transferring the bottle of Sherry from her left to her right side, and drew herself to her feet.

"I'll go and inform Molly and Remus that you'll be coming to stay at Grimmauld tomorrow then." She said softly, reaching for the essay on her desk.

In her grasp, the paper whispered as it sailed through the air towards her, and she settled herself in the chair behind the desk, interest sparked across her features.

After a few moments, Hermione whispered a quiet good night and turned to leave, stalking through the halls of the barren Hogwarts softly. She stared at the canvas of the Fat Lady for quiet sometime, whishing there was a painting inside the Gryffindor dormitories. Hogwarts was lonely when you didn't have a mass of other teenagers swarming about you, and the dorms were down right depressing.

She advanced towards the painting and it swung open without question, apparently in the days of closure, passwords were only placed on private sects of the castle. She climbed through the hole slowly, the fireplace in the center of the common room was dead, and the room was only lit by a few wall side lanterns. She sighed quietly, and on an impulse, she veered to the left.

Climbing up the stairs, she quickly located the seventh year boy dormitory and stepped through the door frame, wrinkling her nose at the obvious 'male' smell that still resided in its depths. She'd heard Ron say many times that he was often found sleeping against the wall, meaning his bed was against either the left or right wall, and she knew that Harry slept in the bed next to him.

Which was it? Left or right? Wracking her brain, she pulled forth a memory of Ron in their third year exclaiming that Scabbers had eaten a hole through his sheets, when he'd woken and found it he'd chunked him straight over his shoulder and Crookshanks, who had been 'mysteriously' huddled at the door ways frame had only to run a few short feet to reach his terrified rat. The right wall was nearest to the doorframe, and her suspicions were confirmed when she attempted to plump up a pillow on top of Ron's bed and she felt something hard within it's cover.

Reaching between the slit on the side of the pillow, she withdrew a large gold necklace with enormous words, 'My Sweetheart'. She immediately burst into laughter, the memory of Lavender's gift to Ron momentarily pushing her sullen depression away. Glancing at Harry's bed, she pulled both pillows and the comforter off of it, pulling them over to Ron's, and she climbed onto it. Lying in the dark, curled atop the pillows, engulfed in their scents, and warm in their blankets, Hermione smiled softly, thinking of all the times she'd shared with them.

Her boys. Her friends. She smiled wider, the warmth in the pit of her stomach expanded as she recalled meeting Fluffy with them, their first adventure together. Tomorrow she'd see them again, it had been…wow. It had been nearing four weeks since she'd last seen the faces of her closest companions, and the warmth in her stomach suddenly receded. Replaced by a sting of shallow despair, Hermione was left in a bittersweet recollection of memories.

Everything was going to change now. They were sheltering Draco Malfoy, Ferret Face, Death Eater, Son of Lucius Malfoy, Snape's do-good boy, Draco Malfoy. Her lips bent into a deep frown as she tried to recall anything he'd ever done to deserve the protection, hell, even the time of day coming from Harry. She couldn't find anything. He didn't deserve Harry's hand in friendship; he didn't even deserve Harry turning those startling emerald eyes on him.

She shook her head, but this is what the war was all about. They were fighting something that didn't deserve the attention of such a great guy, but that's what it wanted, that's what it was getting, and it was what they'd have to give. They were fighting a monster, and one of the monsters cronies had changed his mind. So they'd help said crony, they'd protect him, and in turn, he'd help them defeat the monster.

At least she hoped so; it'd be hell to pay if Malfoy didn't pull through for them. Eventually her thoughts stilled, and Hermione began to drift into the arms of embracing sleep, still wrapped in the scents of her two best friends and in the warmth of their blankets. She dreamed, a disturbing dream, one that woke her in a cold panic, sweat dripping off the tip of her nose. As she dreamed, she screamed, and cried, and kicked, and swore, and punched, and wailed. But she was alone in the Gryffindor tower, no one heard a sound. Maybe that's why she dreamed it.

_The wind was blowing harshly, thick and heavy sheets of rain were pounding the windows of Twelve Grimmauld, and the very frame of the house was threatening to buckle beneath the winds that engulfed it. She was there, along with Harry, Ron, and Malfoy. Briefly she wondered why there were no adults present; the house was utterly silent save for the pounding storm outside. _

_In the form of a dream indeed, the silence that weighed so heavily within her ears faded into a scene that had been carrying on, she just hadn't noticed. Harry and Ron were giggling over each other, laughing hysterically at Malfoy, who was grinning and apparently, telling them something that was extremely funny. Hermione was lost in a dazed dream, only catching glimpses of what the conversation was about, what she did pick up on was the term 'love'. _

_'What the hell?' _

_She snapped out of her dream and caught the tail end of Malfoy's tale, Ron giggling madly across from her._

_ "Hypogriffs! Hypogriffs in love, I can see it. The newest best selling novel by some sappy romance author, Dead ferrets: A tale of two hippogriffs."_

_Ron snickered loudly and Harry openly laughed, quite suddenly a fuzzy feeling began to tingle in the pit of Hermione's stomach, and she snapped her attention to Malfoy, who was staring at her intently._

_ Their eyes locked and the tingling in her gut began to clear, forming a clean thought. What it was she couldn't place her finger on, but in her dream, it made perfect sense. He was talking to her clear as day, but his mouth wasn't moving, she knew this because there was separate warmth in her belly, warmth that came from watching his lips. _

_They were defiantly not moving, so how was he talking to her? Raising her gaze to his eyes again, his grey orbs burned deep into her thoughts, Ron was still giggling madly and Harry was getting louder in his continual laughter. What the hell was so funny? Hermione blinked, and she was looking not at Malfoy's eyes, but at the end of a wand, its handle held firmly…in his hand. _

_"Draco?" She whispered quietly, and a sad smile formed across his face._

_ Suddenly she understood what he was saying, the clouds shifted from the fuzziness in her stomach completely, and a memory rang through the fog._

_"I'm sorry Hermione."_

_Her vision dimmed as he whispered something, and an opaque stream shot from the tip of his wand, hitting her in the chest. Instantly her world began to fade as the spell took it's toll, and total blackness consumed her._

_Somewhere in the blackness, Ron continued to giggle._


	10. Her Name is Nova

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_10: Her Name is Nova _**

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****

Harry paced anxiously in circles. It had been four weeks, four undeniably stressfully long weeks since the last time he'd seen Hermione. They'd had two weeks together at Hogwarts together, before Ron had been whisked away to Grimmauld, a safety precaution taken after Arthur Weasley was sabotaged at work.

One week with just he and Hermione, one in which she was continuously drawn away for one duty or another, school work, or the need to sleep. He smiled at the last, on the last day before he was pulled away from the school, Hermione had fallen asleep in his lap, she was talking in circles when he'd found her, curled in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, whispering about past assignments and duties she'd already completed.

He'd laughed and hauled her to her feet, setting himself on a couch and patting the seat next to him. The common room was empty save for the two of them in the late hours, and Hermione was peering at him in such a dejected way he found he couldn't abandon her to the warmth of his bed. She'd surprised him though, when she glanced at the space beside him, and crawled onto his leg.

He sat for a few moments, stunned by her actions, but she didn't seem to notice. She settled on his left leg, her back pressed against the arm rest of the couch, her head lying against the curvature of his neck. She'd fallen asleep instantly. Harry smiled again as he remembered wondering just how he was going to get out from underneath her to sleep himself, but he found her weight manageable and he'd eventually fallen asleep himself, both arms wrapped around her waist in a protective manner.

He'd awoken to the clamor of a bustling common room, a couple students shooting him questioning looks, though most ignored the two of them. After a short period, Hermione stirred in his lap and peered at him with bleary eyes. Harry laughed and asked her if she'd had a good nights sleep. She'd grinned at him lopsidedly and sighed against his collarbone, thanking him for being such a great friend repeatedly.

Harry had waved it off, drawing her into one last bear hug before she slid from his lap. He never even made it to breakfast before he was drawn away to Grimmauld, and Hermione was left to fend for herself in the whole of Hogwarts for near a month. He shook his head of the memories, and rummaged through his things to find the gift he'd demanded Molly pick up on her weekly trip to Diagon Alley for household supplies and a few ingredients they used on a daily basis.

From beneath a rumpled shirt, he pulled a book, the black dragon leather binding it smelt of foreign places, its specialty. Much like a love potion, the diary in his hands smelled faintly of what pleased the possessor the most, on the inside cover the manufacturer had written a brief explanation that pleasant scents relaxed the mind, and enabled the diary's owner to write to their hearts content with little fear of having their secrets read. Its chief defensive mechanism was its novelty quality; someone other then the owner would smell what disgusted them most, turning them away from the forbidden book in favor of a toilet.

He grinned at the book, and ran a hand over the first glossy page; the light cream color glistened with golden lines, small in width. Hermione would love it, he was almost positive she'd fill it with essays rather then her personal thoughts, but he didn't mind. Grabbing the tiny golden padlock that belonged on the back covers clasp, he slipped the thin thong through the loophole, and locked the padlock, the key dangling in his grasp. In order to bind the book the user would need to tap the lock with their wand, so he couldn't officially make it Hermione's until she appeared herself.

The front cover was imprinted with a long quill, a thin blue scribble line escaping its tip. He smiled at it one last time, and picked himself up from the dusty floor. Glancing in the back of the closet, Harry's grin widened two-fold as he was met with a quiet hoot, this birthday would be one to remember.

At half past noon Harry found his way downstairs, the kitchen was buzzing with chatter, and through it he could pick out the chirpy laugh of Molly, the deep bass tone of Arthur, and the quiet laughs of Lupin. They were all coming to celebrate, a time of happiness were few and far between in the late weeks, so when one arose, the circle Harry found himself embedded in stuck to it fast, and even Malfoy seemed to be perking up, though their skirmishes were far from being tossed aside for something as drastic as friendship.

Harry waited with a jittering in his nerves, the smile refusing to leave his face, and his hair seemed to be just as cheery as it had refused to bow even to the incriminating strengths of hair gel this morning, poking its black finger out in all directions. Nearing one Harry was greeted by an eccentric Tonks, a stupidly grinning Shacklebolt, and finally, Hagrid, McGonagall, and Hermione.

Ron reached her fast, pulling her in a tight bear hug that resulted in 'oomph' on Hermione's part, and an ear-to-ear grin on Ron's. He shook her slightly and even twirled once with her in his arms, and Hermione's giggle made Harry grin brightly. When Ron released her Harry drew her into a tight embrace, rocking her left and right for a few moments before slipping an arm to her lower back and lifting her across his shoulder.

Hermione shrieked and banged jovially on his back, laughing madly as he pranced into the kitchen, Ron close in tow cackling at Hermione. The group in the kitchen laughed and cheered at the three friends, Hermione finally set back on her feet. Malfoy sat in the far corner, a slight grin cracking his face as Hermione caught Harry in a right hook, his glasses sent askew as she playfully decked him.

Ron laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Harry slung one around her waist, Hermione was absolutely beaming between them, her arms wrapped around both of their waists. Molly snapped several pictures of the three of them, their smiles bright and full of life, and for several hours the chatter resolved around the three friends and their many adventures.

Draco stayed in the back of the group, but Molly eventually consumed so much caffeine she found it plausible to draw him to the front, taking several more pictures of the four of them, some with Ron and Draco glaring pointedly at each other, and one with Draco and Hermione alone, a hysterically giggling Hermione in the background with a shocked expression on Draco's face as the warm hot chocolate she'd been holding spilled down his shoulder and into his lap.

Eventually the wild commotion died down, and the atmosphere calmed. Molly served a spectacular feast into which everyone, including the reserved Draco, could be found happily stuffing their faces. As the last piece of turkey was cut away and the final scoop of mashed potatoes (stolen by a grinning Draco from Ron) was consumed, Molly waved her wand and the collective group of dishes dispersed, appearing in the sink behind them.

Lupin was the first to begin, and Harry felt his heart soar as the real celebration began.

"Well, I suppose now is as good as ever. The summer wasn't exactly...friendly, and I know most…if not all of us have been through some pretty tough emotional stress lately. But, we've decided it would be good to have a get together, and to mark the occasion we're celebrating your...delayed, seventeenth birthday!"

Harry grinned at Lupin, pretending to be surprised be the announcement, though he'd long known as Molly had spilled the secret to Ron, who in turn, told Harry.

Harry smiled at him once more, and Lupin offered him a rare beam. Around the table people spoke their peace, each giving Harry a boost of confidence from the ones he'd surrounded himself with. At long last they got to the good part, and Hermione was the first to place a wrapped parcel before him. Harry smiled at her and gently undid the ribbon, pulling the lid from the box. His smile broadened as his eyes landed on the piece of wood lying in its depths. From the shallow pit of its cover, Harry pulled a glossy plaque from it, an engraving of Harry catching the snitch smooth and glittering in its place. The character that was Harry zoomed around the frame, catching the shimmering ball off and on, always smiling madly and holding it above his head with every catch.

Beneath the black image that was the carving, a small golden sheet of metal was engraved with the words: "To one of the best wizards this world will ever know, to a great guy I'm lucky enough to know, to my best friend. Every time I see you in the air I know you're free, and it's like watching magic. With all my love, your friend, Hermione Jane Granger."

Harry's eyes glazed over and it was only Malfoy's loud "Crying Potter?" That pushed them back, he grinned at Hermione, and pulled her into a tight hug, "Thanks so much 'Mione, it's wonderful." He whispered into her hair, and she smiled at him, returning the embrace. Following Hermione, Ron sat next to him, in his hands a delicately wrapped parcel. He gripped it tightly, glanced once at Harry, and thrust it into his lap.

Harry blinked at him confusedly, and tore the paper from around the box. He stared at it for a long time, and turned his green eyes to Ron, the smile he'd held for Hermione replaced by a broad show of teeth. "Ron…" He began, glancing between him and the box in his lap, "I…thanks Ron. Thanks." He whispered, and pulled the item in his lap up for the rest of the group to see his gift.

It was a framed picture, where it had been taken Harry had no idea, but it warmed his stomach to the point of tears, once again. Harry stood in the middle, his green eyes vivid and pure, to his left stood Sirius Black, his arm on Harry's shoulder, smiling goofily at the cameraman. To his right, was Albus Dumbledore, his hand on Harry's shoulder as well, smiling that knowing smile with the twinkle in his eye, peering down his crooked nose at the camera. Like Hermione, at the base of the image was a tiny silver fragment of steel; engraved in its mass were the words: "I know you've lost a lot of people, a lot of people I can't replace, but I want you to remember you'll always have me. – Ron Weasley."

Harry hiccupped as he fought to push the tears in his eyes back, and he stared hard at Ron. "Yeah…I'll always have you." He whispered and smiled at him, Ron returning his grin wholeheartedly. The image was passed around the small flock of people, and with each new face it was greeted with a broad smile. Several more gifts were placed in front of him, but none stuck out like that of Hermione's and Ron's. Except for maybe Draco's.

He glanced awkwardly at the box Malfoy shoved in his hands, a crooked smirk on his face. "Uh..thanks?" He murmured, peering suspiciously at the box. Slowly he tore the paper away, and he laughed loudly as he was greeted with the sight of Puffskein Pancakes, (All shades of pink for the family of girls!), the front image soaked in bright pink pancakes. Ron burst into laughter along side him, and Hermione chuckled at the idea.

When the laughter died away, Harry held up a hand. "I really enjoyed this guys, this was the best birthday I've ever had. But I gotta ask you to wait just a few minutes before you all go and get drunk." He shot a glance at Hagrid who grinned and waved back. "This isn't really conventional, but I missed their birthdays, so I felt it was only right they got to share the happiness you guys have brought me tonight." He finished, and held up a hand to the group before bounding through the side hallway and up the stairs. As he departed Lupin chuckled to himself, feeling just a bit stupid at having thought they could really hold a secret from Harry.

The group fell into whispers; each wondering what was going on. Harry returned with a small package, and handed it delicately to Hermione. "Yours first, I had to beg Molly to help me get it." He grinned, and Hermione's eyes lit up as she accepted the package. "Harry, my birthday was months ago you silly…oh my…oh Harry!" She squealed, having ripped the paper away revealing the black tome he'd been inspecting earlier.

"Oh dear." She whispered, her cheeks turning a deep red as her eyes bubbled over, and she lunged at Harry, the book clasped firmly in her hand. He grinned as she hugged him roughly, tears streaming down her face. "Harry! These cost…oh my Harry." She whispered, staring at the cover of the book in her hands. He waved her off, "You deserve it Hermione, somewhere to keep your impossibly long notes on nothing important." He grinned and hugged her again.

As she sat stroking the cover and mumbling under breath, Harry turned to Ron. He was smiling brightly, and Ron tilted his head. "My birthday hasn't happened yet, what are you looking at me for?"

Harry laughed, "Well oh well; I couldn't rightly leave you out could I? Besides, we don't know if we'll have the time and energy to give you something just as good with the war and all, better do it now when you'll have time to enjoy it."

Ron nodded mutely, staring at Harry in fascination. "Yours was a bit tough, I didn't quite know what to get you. I thought about a broomstick, but since I can't use mine you're the only one to keep it up to shape, you have one at your fingertips. So I found something that's defiantly…unique." He finished and grinned lopsidedly at Ron, "Their dead useful." He whispered, and disappeared up the stairs again.

The group stared after him; Ron bewildered but excited to see what Harry had in store for him. After a few moments, Harry's foot steps could be heard clamoring down the steps, and he peeked his head out from around the corner. "Ready?"

Ron smiled and beckoned him over, "Come on then mate, stop teasing me and get it over with!" Harry laughed and stepped around the corner, at his move, there was a collective gasp and Ron's jaw fell. Harry smiled, "Her name is Nova."

On his shoulder sat a beautiful bird, Harry was overjoyed when he'd learned of the bird's origins. She sat nearly a foot and a half high, her head was lathered in shimmering crimson feathers, piercing light blue eyes stared out from beneath the ruffle of red, and her body faded into orange, her talons glistened a delicate pink tinged color, and between it all, stark white feathers poked about. Her tail long and billowy, the crimson color of her head returning in full force as it traced the creatures tail and descended down Harry's spine, tickling his lower back.

Ron's mouth refused to close; he stared openly at the bird perched on Harry's shoulder, love dazzling in the pits of his brown pools. "Nova?" He breathed, and the bird hooted, hopping from Harry's shoulders and expanding her massive wingspan to sail gently to the floor. When she landed, she waddled to Ron's feet, and climbed the incline of his leg. Ron stared at the bird for a short moment before laying a hand on her head and she hooted joyfully again.

Hagrid broke the silence first, "Blimey Harry! That bird's no house owl in'it?" Harry shook his head, "No, she isn't. She's half owl; I'm not sure which kind, but half owl, and half…" He smiled, remembering one kind of the bird he'd never forget, Hermione finished for him, stroking the tail feathers of the bird. "She's part phoenix isn't she Harry?" She breathed, and Ron's gaze snapped to Harry. "Yeah."

Ron's jaw snapped shut and the bird in his lap crawled up his arm, taking care not to pierce his skin with her talons, and perched happily on his shoulder. He stared at her for a long time, the group around them gazing at the magnificent bird with interest. "Par' Phoenix ya said there Harry?" Hagrid began again, beaming at Nova with a look of content.

Harry nodded, "Yes, the man who gave him to me said it was a wild phoenix that sired it. I wouldn't know, where did you find him anyways Hagrid?" Ron gawked between Harry and Hagrid, and the giant of a man burst into a large smile. "O' ah…some bloke gae' 'er to me.." He blushed dramatically and murmured something which sounded suspiciously like "gambling bet", before his face brightened and he hastily changed the subject. She 'in't full Phoenix, ot'erwise she'd be all red, 'n her head be long and lanky. See 'ow she's got that owl look to her head? Phoenix's can' do such things, she's a beauty though, ain't she?"

Several hours later the fascination with the newest member of the trio died down and the three friends retreated to Harry and Ron's room, Hermione immediately began scribbling down books to look up on owl and phoenix crossbreeding, and Ron was busily feeding his new companion table scraps which she happily accepted. Harry grinned and pulled Hedwig from her cage, who immediately hooted sternly as she met the annoyingly flashy creature they called Nova.

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_A/N: The journal described in this chapter is a real diary, I have it! (Well...minus the magical qualities.)_


	11. The Arrival of Luna Lovegood

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_11: The Arrival of Luna Lovegood _**

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"Are you sure Profe…er…McGonagall?"

The question seemed to be a plague to her lately; it was terrifying giving a "yes" to such a question, when so much hung on her word. Lives were at stake, many of them, many of which she knew personally, and if she conceded to the wrong decision, those lives would be lost.

"I'm sure." A quiet answered her absolute acknowledgement, followed by a stark nod and the sounds of retreating footsteps.

Luna Lovegood. This whole day surrounded that child, and in the end, it wasn't even McGonagall's pounding headache that would cause such strife. The girl was an orphan now, and it was a terrible price to pay for one so young, it seemed almost common now-a-days for a child to have no parents…parents murdered at the hand or by the order of the Dark Lord.

But there were no mistaking the facts, Mr. Lovegood, the owner of the infamous _Quibbler_ was dead, and also in fact, was he murdered at the word of the Dark Lord. The details of the attack were still in question, but the general theory went along the lines of Mr. Lovegood's infatuation with rumors had landed him at the mercy of Voldermort after producing an edition on how to negate the effects of a creature's toxin. The reason why the Dark Lord would even give a damn, or that he even read the _Quibbler_ confused them all silly, but perhaps his connections ran deeper then his magical tabloid…that would make more sense.

The one time in his life the old coot had got something right, he now he lay six feet beneath the soiled ground. McGonagall shook her head and a few loose wisps of her hair plundered free of their bindings. She was sending the child to the only place she possibly could, Grimmauld. But her ambition had failed her once again as she was reminded of just how many people were being hidden there.

Three of whom were on the Dark Lord's immediate wrath, two who she was sure were on that list not very far down, the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix, and the secrets that they were relying on to keep them all alive. She needed a new sanction, but there were few safe enough aside from that little shack of a house.

It was Hermione who saw her first, and her brain simply came up with the only viable explanation it could: _She's drunk._

Hermione Granger had never seen Luna Lovegood cry, she'd never seen her so much as hang her head in apparent depression, she'd seen her muse sure, but…this simply was not the girl she'd known. However, as with McGonagall, there was simply little room to maneuver around what lie before her.

And what lie in front of her eyes was a crying, quietly sobbing, blonde-headed girl they called Luna. Hermione jumped to her feet and simply stared at the girl before she promptly snapped it shut and embraced her. Luna fell against her chest and buried her face in Hermione's neck, sobbing as the warmth of her arms surrounded her.

"Oh Luna, what's happened?" Hermione whispered, blinking as the girl in her arms bawled and grasped her shirt tightly. "Never mind, come sit down and we'll talk later." She murmured, pulling Luna with her to the security and comfort of the squishy old furniture.

"Hermione you seen my Chudley Cannon pair of soc…" Ron's words stopped short as he reached the bottom landing of the stairs and his eyes landed on the girl in Hermione's embrace. His blinked and drew his head back in a gesture of immense surprise, and like Hermione, his jaw fell when he realized just who it was, and what she was doing.

"Luna?" He called out quietly, and her head came up slowly, blonde tendrils waving across her eyes and cheek as she tilted her head in his direction and their eyes locked. She sniffed and lowered her eyes to the floor, and curled back up against Hermione's chest.

Ron advanced slowly, coming to a halt just before his knees hit the side of the couch and dropped to a squat. "What is it Luna?" He whispered, extending a hand to her shoulder slowly, and grasping it lightly when he touched it. At his touch, Luna exploded.

"He killed him!" She roared, jerking back from Hermione's embrace and snapping her head around to Ron in a violent moment. Ron was taken aback but he didn't move from his position. "What? Who killed who?" He responded quietly, staring intently at her face.

Luna's lips curled back into a feral snarl, "He didn't kill him; he _murdered_ him. The Dark Lord _slaughtered_ my father!" She hissed, her already large eyes growing as the dark gleam in them shown. Hermione sucked in her breath in a sharp intake, and Ron's jaw dropped once again.

Before either of them could speak Luna's rant ceased, and she slumped back, tears welling in her eyes immediately. Hermione glanced at Ron helplessly, but the determination on Ron's face startled her. "Listen to me Luna, we'll get revenge. We'll tear that son of a bitch limb from limb before this is over, do you understand? You aren't alone in this…" As he spoke to her, a memory from years passed wondered into his mind, one which contained a then embarrassingly senile Luna, "You have friends." He finished strongly, and she slowly closed her eyes, a delicate smile written on her lips as her tears continued to roll down her cheeks.

Hermione stood from the couch, and Ron took her place, wrapping his arms around Luna's shoulders into which she gladly sought shelter.

Late that night, after many visitors came to Grimmauld to discuss the new life added to their small hideout and the reasons as to why she was there, the first of Draco's revelations came to pass. He'd been pacing at the top of the staircase for what seemed like an eternity. Though the Order didn't trust him, they hadn't troubled to keep their voices down when their arguments broke out or Luna's wails drove through the house. He'd picked up on many vital pieces of information, and though he harbored not the slightest prick of remorse for the orphaned girl, the idea that he knew why her father had been murdered seemed to have stabbed the cunning side of his brain until it was raw.

He wasn't quite sure what to do, if he told them, they might back off and remove their restrictions…or maybe they'd just use the information and leave him wand-less anyways. But what if he only teased them until he was assured that he would be removed from house arrest and allowed his wand back? Yes, that seemed more like Malfoy then anything he'd done since his arrival, it was high time he revived his ways, dammit!

He descended down the stairs slowly, arrogance leaking from his demeanor. At the landing he turned to the right and entered the living room. The Order was in the kitchen, stacked in chairs and against all means of support, while Hagrid rested his fleshy body against a wall that was directly in front of Draco's vision, back end of the kitchen. When his beady black eyes fell on Malfoy his features twisted in a scowl, and he signaled for the room to cease its chatter.

"Oh by all means, don't stop now. It's not like I couldn't hear every word you said, you know, because you took such great care in keeping quiet." Draco hissed, and every eye in the room narrowed, he nearly took a step back. "Anyways I'm not here to discuss the weather with you; I think I know why Looney's dad was murdered." From slits to wide-eyed expressions, the change in the atmosphere in a split second was drastic, chairs slid forward in eager anticipation while others scooted back in well-founded suspicion.

"But I want my wand back." Hagrid snorted, "I knew t'er wan't much good to yer, yer jus' tryin' ter get yer self a way out so you can run ba'ter yer no good father, eh? Well I say keep yer' bloody mouth well shut 'n hold yer' tongue ya bloody co'ward."

Draco merely lowered his eyelids, in a heavily-burdened-by-the-insufferable-peasants-around-me type of way, and turned towards McGonagall, who was seated at the head of the flimsy table. "Would you like to find out? Or would you like to sit here all night until your brains rot out in trying to understand the Dark Lord whilst I sleep peacefully because I know the reason why?" The room fell silent, all eyes were on McGonagall's tired face, her skin sagged and her eyes seemed far too dark for the once stern but otherwise merry witch that had taught so many young witches and wizards.

She nodded curtly, "Very well, if you provide an explanation that can be researched upon and concluded by everyone that it's the actual cause of Mr. Lovegood's murder…none of this just to get your wand back boy, you'll have to wait until we are all completely confident you're telling the truth."

He scowled, "But who knows how lo…" He paused, slowly rotating around his spot on the floor until he was facing Mr. Weasely, who was merely staring at him like a screaming child in the grocery store. "You, you're the muggle contraption collector, yes?" Mr. Weasley nodded, raising a red eyebrow at the blonde before him, "Yes, muggle artifacts." Malfoy nodded, "Right, whatever, do you happen to have something called a _black_ light?"

Mr. Weasley jumped, "They make _black_ lights? Well what on earth for, lights are to see things in the dark, why woul…" Harry interrupted him here, "They aren't black Mr. Weasely, their actually purple, but they are used in muggle investigation labs to detect traces of blood in clothing or blankets…or anything else really, even after it's been cleaned off and such after a murder, and they use that evidence to find the killer."

He gasped, "Amazing! A light that can see blood!" Harry nodded, "Sort of…there are other chemicals used that bring the blood out that have to be applied first, but for the most part, yes, a light that can detect blood," Harry paused and shifted his attention to his school rival, "And I have one...that I can borrow."

Draco grinned, "Potter, how useful!" He exclaimed, an actual smile spreading his face, he could have his wand back tonight! Molly folded her arms across her chest, "Just what does seeing blood have to do with the murder of poor Mr. Lovegood, Malfoy?" Her voice was harsh, and extremely suspicious, but Draco merely waved it off and stepped closer to the table.

"Allright then, all I cared to hear from your conversation was that he was killed after printing an article about negating a creature's poison, did any of you actually read the article?" McGonagall narrowed her eyes, "This is your story Mr. Malfoy, and we aren't providing an answer, that's your job." He let a long, bothered sigh, and continued, "Fine, I only asked so you could see for yourselves that I know what I'm talking about. There would only be one reason why the Dark Lord would give a damn about something as wacky as the_Quibbler_, and it's because it actually hinted on something he needs, or is planning. In this case, I think it's something beyond both of those reasons."

He shifted and McGonagall raised her wand, conjuring yet another chair in the cramped space for him to sit at the table. "There is a type of rat, I'm not sure exactly what it is, but it's a cousin of a rat at least, that secretes poisons used for internal digestion, poison that would otherwise burn right through your skin if you were stupid enough to want to cut open a rats belly and play with it's digestive fluids, but in this case, the poison is actually used as a preoperational step for a ceremony that the Dark Lord uses."

The room had a collective physical shift, as the members of the Order of the Phoenix scooted closer to hear his explanation. "After extensive modifications involving other highly toxic resources, and a few house hold ingredients, and the last, a piece of the participants flesh, the poison remains a poison, but it no longer burns the person who donated his skin, instead it acts as a buffer."

"So you're saying the Death Eaters lather their bodies in poison now are you?" Harry scoffed, and Draco silenced him with a swift glance. "No Potter, shut up, I'm not done. Of course you all know about the Dark Lord's sign, the Dark Mark, this poison is part of the process of receiving it."

The room fell still, as the impact of his words rang in their ears, "The Mark itself is branded by the Dark Lord's own wand, after years of being in possession of one such as him, the wand has taken on attributes of its master, the Dark Lord is no longer human, whereas his subjects are. Therefore with the Mark being branded by a wand used to more powerful magic's not possessed by humans, it relinquishes a spell not meant for anything lesser then…whatever the hell the Dark Lord is. This poison acts, like I said, as a buffer, against the force of the spell. Even then a good many Death Eaters are left unconscious for a few days after the ceremony, it's not uncommon."

They all merely sat, contemplating his words. His story fit well, but there was one last… "What did you want this _black_ light for then?" McGonagall asked, and Draco nodded at her, "I found that out quite by accident, you can _see_ the layer of poison around the Dark Mark while it's under the light." He finished a smug grin on his face at his tale. Harry blinked at him, "It's my cousin Dudley's…we'll have to go to the Dursely's to get it."

McGonagall blinked at him, "You are not going anywhere Potter, I'll get it if I have to finish Hagrid's work and show him a true master of Transfiguration, I'm sure his parents will be pleased with the revealing of their son, a nice, fat, pink pig." Hagrid's jaw dropped, "Ma'm?" She laughed, "Of course we knew Hagrid dear, Dumbledore and I shared quite a laugh over it." With that she was gone.

They sat in the cramped kitchen for about twenty minutes before Mcgonagall stepped through the front door of Grimmauld, holding a long white lamp and a cord in her hands. "Potter, how on earth do you propose to turn this wretched thing on in a magical house?" She barked from the door, staring at the plug in with distaste. Harry motioned her into the kitchen, while Hermione took the lamp. She placed in the center of the table, and set her wand at the end of the metallic prongs that were its plug, "Now, muggle devices run off electricity, I think…If I can contain a bit, it should work like a poorly made outlet. It might flicker a bit but…possibly."

She drew her wand and conjured a medium sized see-through ball, much like a bubble, into which she poked the tip of her wand and a haze of sparks flew forth, trapped inside the sphere. The room drew a gasp from its magical inhabitants as they had never seen energy in such a contained way.

Setting the ball down on the table, she picked up the plug, and gently inserted a fragment of the metallic tip into the bubble. Immediately the yellowish-white zaps leapt to its prongs, and the light fizzled on. Draco stuck his arm beneath the rays of the light, and as if someone had attacked him with a highlighter, there lie surrounding his mark, a thin layer of greenish-yellow residue. It sparkled and shone with an elasticity texture, and he smiled triumphantly. "I told you."


	12. Is it Truly Possible

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_12: Is it Truly Possible _**

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Draco sat in his current triumphant position for perhaps a whole of two minutes.

A whole of two minutes in which the inhabitants of the small and thus wretchedly cramped kitchen did not speak, did not bleak, and what seemed an awful lot like they also forgot to breathe. It was McGonagall that broke the tedious silence first.

"What a tale." She murmured, her eyes lazily drifting back and forth over the sign of the Dark Lord still gleaming gloriously from his pale skin beneath the light.

The blond shifted uncomfortably as the heat the lamp radiated began to make his hairs stand on end, and he furled the sleeve of his shirt down over the mark, and withdraw his hand from the muggle contraption's rays of light.

"So...can I have my wand back, then?" His voice sounded hollow, unsure, even to his own ears.

McGonagall's eyes flew to his face, and she gazed at him for quite a while before she carefully formed her words. "I think either by that intense show of extreme skills of theatre, or by some miraculous feat Mr. Malfoy, you have just divulged to us the secret of he-who-must-not-be-named' mark, that you have indeed merited at least the return of your wand for the time being."

Draco whooped loudly, and McGonagall seemed to be severely rethinking her decision at his excitement. "Yes, your wand will be returned to you, on a trial basis." She finished, and Draco snapped to attention. "You are still a hazard to our Order, Mr. Malfoy. I am granting you leniency based on your display tonight, should I find out you spouted a load of tosh, I will enforce my position. Do you understand?"

She could have sung him a song for all he reacted to, and he hastily shook his head. He was getting his wand back! His stomach flip-flopped in bliss and for some strange reason, Granger burst into giggles somewhere behind him. Several members turned to face her, and she immediatley ducked, trying to hide her face.

"Ms. Granger, something you'd like to share?" McGonagall called out across the room, and Hermione shook her head furiously.

"I'm sorry professor, I don't know what came over me. Must just be the stress of the day setting in." The hiding brunette blushed and hid her face once more.

They talked for several more hours, the Order of the Phoenix, buzzing about this new string of information that could change their position dramatically. While some discussed the possible finance change in the Orders resources, other conversed over the general impact of what Draco had told them. All around the room there rang one, final question.

Why had no one else, reformed or still in service, mentioned this buffer?

Surely more then one seventeen year old boy knew of it's existence, especially if it was as he said, and they were required to give a piece of their own skin to contribute to the poisons qualities. Many people never truly believed a Death Eater could reform, and the many that took the long strides to ensure their embrace back into society had done so not through their acts, but through their money. This new bit of information proved many of their suspicions.

Had it really simply been that no one wanted to get rid of their mark?

Though many wanted to believe it was so simple, it was hard for such well-meaning people to swallow this, and even in the back of their minds, alongside their doubts that the Death Eaters could be good people, they retained the small bit of hope that they simply did not know there was a way to remove it from their person. Or at least they hoped.

Sometime during their discussion, McGonagall had disappeared into the recesses of the room that was off-limits to Draco, and returned several moments later. She held in her grasp his wand, which his gray eyes remained glued to as she tapped it with her own, a small, nearly lacey cover or magical residue releasing the thin stick of wood, and evaporating into the air. Free from it's enchantment, she handed it to Draco, who waved it around for a moment, closing his eyes in relish that his wand was in his hand once more.

His happiness was short-lived however, as McGonagall glanced between him and Hermione for some unknown reason, it's source soon to be revealed.

"Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger, please follow me." She said curtly, standing suddenly and headed back towards the mysterious room. Draco eyed her curiously before standing as well and following in Hermione's footsteps.

Their Headmistress pushed the door open slightly, and they slipped into the room. Immediately upon entering the room, Draco's face contorted into a convulsive pulse as the stench reached his nose. Aside him, Hermione gagged and her brown eyes immediatley began to water. Shortly after McGonagall stepped in after them, shutting the door behind them smugly and waving her wand about. Immediately the smell wafted away from them, and she conjured three chairs, motioning for them to take a seat.

"I've asked you in here for one reason, and one reason only." She whispered, her voice seething anger.

Hermione's eyes widened momentarily, frightened to see her professor in such a state.

"I have recieved reports of a certain oddity occuring between the two of you." The elder woman gasped out, glaring at the two of them as if they were dragon dung. "I don't care to know how the vapors of the potion transferred between you, but I have heard enough to know that it has indeed been shared. Ms. Granger, after your work on the background information of the potion in question, I'm astounded your were qutie frankly, stupid enough, to allow yourself to come into contact with it."

Hermione's eyes welled once more, and she hung her head.

Draco snarled, glaring at his teacher as a sudden pang of shame shot through his stomach. "What's it to you woman? We've done nothing wrong, myself in particular." He shot as an after-thought towards Hermione, who's head came up at his possible defense.

McGonagalls' eyes were suddenly ablaze with fire as she shot up from her chair, "You will not speak to me in such an insolent tone you little brat!" She cried, and she lunged forward, snatching Hermione from her chair.

The brunette cried out in fear and squealed as the wheathered hand of the older woman clamped over her mouth, holding her firmly against her chest. With her free hand, McGonagall grasped her wand and held it firmly at Hermione's throat, it's tip poking her sharply in the flesh.

Before his mind could process his actions, a vicious stab of rage shot through Draco's chest, and he jumped to his feet, his wand pointed towards her. A trickle of fear was washing his mind, though for the life of him he could not discern why he was scared of an old hag like McGonagall. What could she possibly do? Turn him into a ferret? Again?

"Let her go, you scheming old hat!" He roared, and behind him a pounding resounded on the rickety door of the room, though it held.

Harry and Ron's voice, mingled with others that he did not recognize so readily sounded out, they were trying to get in. For Granger's, and his own sake, he wished they would hurry. McGonagall did not release her grasp on Hermione, and she in turn to his actions thrust the wands tip farther into her skin. She muttered something and a flash of pearlescent sky-blue later found the girl crumpled at her feet. Wether or not she was unconcious or dead however, Draco could not tell.

A wracking agony tore through his rational mind, and he howled in pain. He crashed to the floor beneath him, his body trembling and shaking in uncontrollable jerks. He shrieked over and over again, screaming in a complete, and absolute terror, mingled and interwined with a pain so real he thought he could die, right there.

And then McGonagall waved her wand, and as abruptly as it had begun, it stopped. His eyes leaked tears rapidly from the torrent of agony he had just endured, and behind him the door burst open. Hermione was wakening from her odd black out, and she was shakily climbing to her feet.

Draco hissed as he threw his hands out beneath his body, and jumped to his feet, breathing raggedly.

"What in the seven hells was that!" He screamed, pointing a slender finger at the form of his teacher.

She glanced at him sadly, before she stepped across the small space between herself and Hermione, who seemed frigthened of being in such close proximity of her deranged headmistress. "I'm so sorry Granger." She whispered, helping the girl to one of the previously conjured seats.

"I had to see. We had to know how far it's progressed."

Both students blinked in horrible confusion, simoltaneously.

"Professor?" Hermione said weakly, too blearly to try and render sense from McGonagall's vague statement.

Draco had expected the members of the Order to ceize the mad old woman and drag her away, instead he found them sharing sad glances with her.

"Someone," He hissed, his upper lip curling back in a feral snarl, "explain to me, what the fuck, is going on?" He screamed, his fists balled at his side and he trembled yet again, though this time the only cause was rage.

Lupin stepped forward from the crowd, lying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"As she said, we had to know how far it's progressed Malfoy. We are aware that somehow, someway, Hermione came into contact with you sooner then the potion was able to ebb away from you. Somehow she absorbed some of the fumes, the vapors, somehow, by the most awful of rotten luck from the hells, you two are sharing the effects of the Limporious potion that you took at your last meeting."

Draco growled and threw Lupin's hands from his shoulder, his back to Hermione, and he glared at the crowd before him. "What the hell are you talking about, mutt! Someone make sense, now!" He roared, and he felt a strange surge of graditude. Graditude?

Lupin sighed, and ran a hand through his greying hair.

"Listen, Draco." He said softly, looking down at the ground as if it should give him strength to fnish his explanation.

"The reason we kept the two of you apart for a few days after Hogwarts closed, was because we though we could prevent your minds from connecting. There has never been a case in the entire history of this potion where two or more people, having drunk or in some way or other shared the same batch of potion, have not formed, in essence, a link."

He paused to lick his lips before continuing.

"This link is always, always a mental connection. You will feel more and more of Hermione's emotions, her physical inflictions, and eventually, you will hear her thoughts as time progresses, and the link further stabilizes. We are trying to find a cure, an antidote, but in order to start, we needed to know how far it's gone. We need to know just how in sync you are with eachother."

Draco's grey orbs contracted and expanded sparadically.

"Are you telling me I'm going to hear the mudblood's thoughts?" He croaked haughtily, and Lupin's lips curled up into a shy smile.

"I wish you would not call her such things, it's unbecoming. However...well, for all practical purposes, yes. Draco, yes, you will eventually be able to hear her every thought, you will feel everything she feels, emotionally, mentally, and physically. We cannot let this connection survive." He finished in a whisper, and Draco glanced towards Potter and Weasley.

He snarled, "Well, I'll be able to tell you if she's in the mood for a good snogging then."

Ron stepped forward instantly, his fist raised menacingly, but Hagrid stepped forward and restrained him.

Draco turned his glare on McGonagall, and she sent him a small smile. "I do apologize Malfoy, I had to know what was happening. The good news, I think, is that you didn't immediatley jump to her aid, which means there is still some personal distance between you. I'm assuming you don't yet share thoughts." She paused here, and shook her head sadly. "But we cannot ignore the fact that you went into a fit when the link was severed unwillingly. This is dangerous ground."

Hermione hiccuped from her chair, and there was collective movement as the rooms attention was shifted to her. '

"I think I might have an idea." She said quietly, and she stood on her feet weakly.

"I...I am not sure, but, if the potion, is in essence, a poison, then...perhaps Nova, seeing as how she is part Phoenix, might be able to cure it with her tears?" She whispered delicatley, and McGonagall's eyebrows shot up.

"Excellent point!" She whooped, and Lupin's face brightened visbily at the suggestion.

"I completely forgot about the bird! Good job Hermione!" He called affectionatley, and turned to speak to Ron.

He was however, several seconds too late as both Harry and Ron were already dashing up the rickety old staircase, intent on saving their friend the agony of listening to Malfoy's thoughts. They waited in relative silence before the thundering of two pairs of feet came slamming into the room, settled on Ron's shoulder sat the regal Nova.

She hooted in greeting and turned her blue gaze on Lupin, who shot her a feral grin. Nova squawked indignantly before flapping her massive wings once, and glided towards McGonagall.

"I do hope this works..." The elder whispered quietly to herself, before holding out her wrist for the crimson phoenix-owl halfbreed to land. With her free hand, she reached out gently, stroking Nova's petite face with her thumb. A multitude of chords, ringing tones echoed through the halls of Grimmauld as Nova sang, for what seemed like an eternity.

It didn't compete with Fawkes, it was no where near the haunting beauty that the original phoenix in their lives emitted in song, but instead, Nova released a chorus of something that up-lifted their spirits that night. She sang of pleasent warmth, of inviting lyric, of love and peace. Even Draco found himself seemingly imbued with her music, and they all watched, transfixed, as a clear, single tear fell from her blue eye.

McGonagall caught it in her trance, inside a tiny vial she had conjured during their wait for Ron to bring Nova to their standing crowd of bodies. The 'splash' rang out clearly in their hovel, and as it's vibrations ceased, so did her song. A relative sadness mingled through them at the end of her song, but they were also revived.

Not in body, but in spirit. There was hope, because Nova had woven it through her magic, and they clung to it.

Lupin stepped forward, and Nova chirped at him, pecking him lightly on the cheek in an owlish sort of way, before she jumped to his shoulder, and from there, to Ron. Who stroked her back foundly, and she in return nuzzled his cheek lovingly. "Good girl." He whispered to her, and she blinked at him in her mystique way. Together they left, and Luna followed, transfixed by the magnificent creature that was Nova.

The remaining people simply stared at one another for a few moments, still shaken from the song of a half Phoenix. It was Hermione that broke the silence first. She stood, and toppled her chair backwards, her arms trembling lightly as she rose to her full height. At the clatter behind her she squeezed her eyes shut and Draco grunted in front of her as a sliver of anxiety ripped through the both of them.

He snarled and punched the chair next to him, causing the entire room to jump.

"Granger if you don't fucking stop it I'm giong to give you a reason to be fucking scared!" He spat, glaring at her with the entire of his being. Hermione glared back at him, distraught at being called out when so many people knew her as a stable witch.

McGonagall cleared her throat, and she stepped between them.

"You two will not fight in front of me. If it is necessary to keep the relative peace here I will confiscate both of your wands. Mr. Malfoy do you really wish to lose it so soon, again?" She spoke solemnly, and ruthlessly.

The blond glared venom at her from his standing point, and she returned his gaze unphased.

Hagrid grunted and turned, shaking his large head as he walked away from the crowd, murmering beneath his breath.

Slowly, very slowly, the room was stripped of it's inhabitants, until only Draco, Hermione, and their headmistress remained. She whispered something, and the vial in her hand evaporated with a pop. Both students glanced her way for a brief moment before returning to their silent brooding. McGonagall sighed and sat down heavily, magicking the door to their small room shut.

From a pocket within her robe, she pulled out a long sheet of parchment, in which Hermione immediatley recognized as the report she had turned in.

The grey-haired woman cleared her throat loudly, before she began to read aloud.  
_  
__"The brew known as Limporius was conceived as an attempt to rid the magical community of a certain malady we know as the Bubonic Plague during that era in history, unfortunately it's deviser was never recorded nor any thesis on how it was even brought into existence, thus we know very little about its factual origins. It can be said however, judging by the base of the potion being sheer energy itself, contained in a liquid form, that the deviser was at least slightly knowledgeable of the heavens, and the effects they have when properly captured at precise times and dates._

_It may also be said that the potion itself has changed since its conception in those dark days, and has effectively 'crossed over' from its original healing mentality, to being associated instantly with the dark arts. We are unsure as to who converted it's properties to serve a darker purpose, but it was not long after the magical community discovered that it didn't work for their diseased in it's original form before the recipe was tampered with, and the modern day Limporius was devised._

_Needless to say, the horrific version of the current potion did work to remove the corruption of the body that the Bubonic and other diseases caused. It also worked on blemishes, scars, disfigured bones or tissue, and internal damage."_

Hermione nodded as the familiar words rang in her ears, and draco listened intently.

McGonagall paused here, and blinked slowly before rubbing her temple in a stressed fashion. "This, you already know. Mr. Malfoy has even experienced the latter mentionings, and I'm at an understanding that nothing said was a suprise?"

Both the brunette and the blond nodded, listening quietly, but steadfast.

The teacher continued on, "Now, comes the hard part." She whispered, and continued to read further down the scroll, her voice dropping and pitching in volume as she spoke, as her lips formed the words that would condemn these two young souls into an eternal struggle with damnation.

_"Every documented case in history, has always ended in death, or mental instability in such a state that there was no hope for recovery. In the case of mulitple drinkers, the connection of the mind held them in a stable mind for far longer then any of a single nature, though the outcome was always far worse._

_Both Magical and Muggle studies of these cases (though the muggles deemed the connection of thought as 'hearing voices in their heads'), neither faction was ever able to penetrate or destory the sharing between the two (or more) participants. Spells were devised, potions concocted, and muggle medicines also intervened, slowed, or temporarily buffeted the connection, but always the participants were rejoined._

_We do know however, that the participants minds were destoryed not by the potion itself, but by hearing someone elses thoughts continously. Over-riding there own, drowning their own personality out and eventually they simply melded as a single entity in mind. A few patients kept in close proximity of each other are reported to have tried to link themselves physically as well, gashing their limbs and attempting to have their veins grow back together as a solid, living being. These acts of course, resulted in the patients expiration. "_

Hermione looked away, tears gleaming in her eyes._ 'How could this happen to me?'_ She screamed inwardly, and half expected Draco to respond, though he seemed unable to hear her thoughts as of yet.

But her suffering was not to be abated, as McGonagall sadly continued._ "Throughout all medical experiments, no cure for the effects of Limporius has ever been devised."_

Draco was trembling from head to foot, his grey eyes were watering and Hermione felt such a surge of hatred invade her mind she gasped aloud. Before McGonagall could even ask, he howled, a piercing cry of agony, and grasped the chair he had been sittingo n previously, throwing it at the door that held them in the room. Both women jumped as the door splintered and shattered beneath the force of the projectile, and beyond it's frame the Order could be seen gaping at them.

Malfoy stomped through it, though his passage was blocked by Hagrid, who seemed unsure if it was a good idea to stay in his way. Hermione ran after him, and McGonagall followed suit, both weary of the potential damage he could sow now that his wand was in his posession.

Harry stood, and advanced twoards him, "She's not half bad." He whispered, and a smile twinged his lips, "Besides, she's a bloody genuis, and you've got the whole Order here, we'll figure out a way to seperate you."

Draco roared at the top of his lungs, punching the kitching table with a tremor of rage that splintered the wood as the door had beneath his anger. _"I don't give a shit about Granger. I don't give a damn about the fucking 'link'!" _His words came out sore, and anguished, though laced through their very fiber lay a tone of malcious that made Harry uneasy.

"Then what is the problem?" The bespecled boy asked quietly, and was startled to find tears in Draco's eyes.  
_  
__"The link?! The link Potter! That only happens when more then one person takes part in it's comsumption! Did you hear the part that mentioned only one? ONLY ONE? The potion is KNOWN for murdering! For driving mad it's imbibers! It doesn't matter how many took it!"_

Draco's tears fell from his cheek.

_"My father handed that fucking potion to me himself. He knew what would happen to me." _He whispered, and Hermione bubbled over in a fit of grief as well, warped in between her own heart and the emotions Draco was sending her way.

The room was stunned into silence. McGonagall's hand flew to her lips, and beside her, even the suspicious Molly Weasley was finding it hard to breathe past the lump that had appeared in her throat. Luping was swallowing continously, and blinking rapidly, as was Hagrid. "Bugger." Ron whimpered aside Harry, and Luna had vivid tears shining in her large, blue eyes.

Draco hissed, _"What the fuck are you all looking at?"_ He screamed, spit flying from his lips as his grey eyes burned in madness.

Hermione shrieked and ran through the large crowd, and threw her arms around his waist. The blond seemed startled, but his pain, his agony was joined between them, and he melded into a hiccuping fit of tears. He slung an arm around her shoulder, and fell against her, his pain sliding in slow, salty trickles down the front of her shirt. The sunk together, to the wooden floor of twelve grimmauld, wrapped together so forcefully in a sobbing fit of pain that sent them into a whirlwind of undying shores. The waves of their enforced, mutual torment crashed against their minds, and they eventually fell into the arms of sleep.

...gentle, loving, sleep.

The Order remained silence through their ordeal, and many members could be found holding the hands of those closest to them. The scene was almost surreal, it made them hiccup as their own tears welled, and sometimes fell. None among them cared for Draco Malfoy, none among...cared...before this night. They had watched him buckle beneath the punishment his father had dealt him, they had watched him collapse and with him, clasped so tightly in his hand, their darling Hermione had fallen too.

There was little room for hatred as they watched and heard his cries, her screams, their tears fall. It was Ron who spoke their thoughts, with Luna clutching at his arm, her crystal clear tears beading down to soak into the floor.  
_  
__"I'll kill that bastard with my bare hands."_


	13. Deadened

**_How to Kill a Rainbow _**

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_13: Deadened _**

* * *

****

That night, as they lay on the floor of Grimauld in what appeared to be sleep to the members of the Order, they curled against one another in something far different. It gripped them with fear, pain, and something that would eternally bind them together.

_Draco woke alone. His chest felt tight, restricted. Feeling a breeze he glanced down. He found nothing; he wasn't even wearing a shirt._

_ 'That's odd, don't remember taking it off.' He mused to himself._

_Something awkward was nagging him, tapping ever so lightly, but serving to annoy him. His chest squeezed together again. Climbing to his feet wearily he looked around, nothing looked out of place; nothing was overturned. The house was peaceful; the house was quiet._

'...the house is quiet...'  
_  
__"Hello?" He called out sullenly, suddenly aware what was bothering him. Grimauld was never quiet, even in the dead of the night. No response. He patted himself down frightened; he found a distinct lack of his wand._

_He was in the kitchen. OK, so he knew where he was. Step two._

'Where is everyone else?'

_He needn't wait long to get his answer. A deafening scream drifted down the stairs; his hair stung his cheeks he whipped around so fast. A strong surge gilded his stomach, and he only hesitated long enough to glance upwards to distinguish that the cry had come from the upper landing before he bounded across the living room, and up the stairs. The stairs creaked ominously beneath his heels as he ran searching for the source of the haunted cry._

_What he seen made his stomach twist in horror. There were bodies everywhere; closest to him was Molly Weasley. Her body lay twisted, and maimed. The blue of her eyes was in the glassy, glossy state of death. Her arm was extended outward in the cruel embrace of mortality; her hand was clapped to Arthur Weasley's._

_A rather large lump formed in his throat as he surveyed the room. Ron lay crumpled against the far wall, blood still gushing from a vicious rip in his throat. Against his chest was Luna's hunched form; trying to quell the blood flow from Ron's wound was her own demise._

_His breathing was loud to his own ear, his heart beat sounded repulsively loud, and echoed in his own head. Yet to find the source of the scream, he advanced forward ever so slightly. His eyes watered as his bare feet squished against the saturated carpet, blood running between his toes. This was disgusting. Abhorrent at the thought of remaining in the hallway for much longer, he gingerly stepped past the corpses and gasped aloud at the mangled body that lie just beyond it._

_"Potter." he whimpered, rapidly feeling the onslaught of hyperventilating assault his lungs. Harry was rag-doll sprawled; his head against Ron's thigh. The entirety of his mid-section looked like it was...chewed out. Draco gagged, and looked away; this was too much to handle._

_Just as he turned to vault down the rotting staircase, he heard the scream again. Whipping around, he leapt through the doorway leading to Potter and Weasley's bedroom, and skidding to and abrupt halt. "Fuck."_

_He had a few seconds to register what was occurring before his eyes, and he used it to its fullest length. Lupin. It was him. He was hunched in a corner of a bed, before him an indistinguishable body that he was presently chewing on. His claws were blood-tinged, his muzzle dripping in fresh quartz of a crimson tide from his latest victim._

_"Oh God," He whispered; eyes alight at the gruesome horror before his eyes. Eyes that watched a man turned werewolf tear chunk after bloody chunk from a human body. A female body...a body of a girl with...was that...brown hair?_

_Draco's eyes widened tremendously at this realization. "GRANGER!"_

_He regretted his protest to Lupin's meal immediately; the werewolf dropped his meal and prowled towards him, growling and snarling. Backing away slowly he bumped the wall just to the left of the doorway, and still Lupin advanced. His arms trembled at his side. He flexed his fist, feeling naked and dead without his wand._

_His lips twitched at what he thought to be his final breath, "Down boy,"_

_Lupin seemed to take extreme offense to being referred to as 'boy', and lunged._

_"Stupefy!"_

_Draco threw a hand in front of his face; hunched over in fear, but as Hermione's voice rang out he looked around in shock. He had no time to register what had just occurred before she wrapped a hand around his arm and yanked him to the doorway. Draco fell back against the frame, crying out as pain shot up his spine, but Hermione was relentless. She threw him behind her, wand at the ready, and backed slowly away from the temporarily stunned werewolf._

_Draco squeezed his eyes shut at the pain in his backside, but remained silent. Together they inched away from the door, before the brunette turned and circled him in one swift motion, and jerked him into the room that he slept in. There was a body here, a large one._

_ "Grounds keeper," He muttered quietly, suddenly understanding why she had hollered so languishingly._

_Hermione slammed the door shut, and slashed her wand through the air, a shimmering blue line stood diagonally across the door. Draco hoped it would hold against a pissed off werewolf._

_She turned around, facing him for the first time since they had encountered, and he could only stare for a few moments. She was gashed and bloodied, her shirt was torn, and her left shoulder was cut from blade to breast, the tatters of the shoulder of her shirt hanging down across her stomach._

_"What the hell Granger? Did the werewolf do that to you?"_

_Hermione's eyes were filled with tears, but she shook her head vigorously. "No, Harry did it."_

_Draco's left eyebrow twitched._

_"Potter did that to you?"_

_Her tears spilled down her cheek and she nodded. "Yes, he was delirious. Lupin had already gotten to him, and Harry was bleeding everywhere, and he was throwing spells blindly, while he was...dying. I don't know what he used, but it hurt pretty badly." She stopped here, breathing deeply and trying to stem the wave of nauseates that swept over her._

_"What's going on?" Draco murmured, stepping forward and drawing her to the bed he slept on, taking her wand and trying his best to suppress the flow of blood that trickled down her chest. Hermione only shook her head as she winced in pain against his touch._

_"I don't know, I woke up, and you were lying on the kitchen floor. I got up to see what was going on, I heard a commotion up here...and then I walked in on Lupin...he was already transformed, Molly and Arthur..." She gasped as the memory assaulted her mind._

_"Hagrid...Ron and Luna...Harry and Ginny were the last."_

_Draco nodded, "The girl then."_

_Hermione sobbed harder, and Draco glared at her as all of his tentative work came undone at her increased heart rate._

_"Woman, if you bleed to death I'm going to be stuck in this damned house without a properly functioning wand to get away! Now stop it," he roared at her._

_She breathed slowly in response, counting the seconds as she tried to force her breathing into command. Nothing would stem her tears however. Sighing, Draco pressed his index and middle finger against the widest area of her wound, and she winced forcefully at the tingling pain that shot up her shoulder._

_"Heh, funny, for some reason I didn't think you'd feel the same." He laughed snidely, shaking his head at such dirty humor in a stressful situation._

_Hermione blinked, and indulged his comment to take her mind away from her pain. "Beg your pardon?"_

_Draco smirked, "Your breast," He mumbled, indicating her flesh beneath his touch. "It's soft."_

_Had she not been bleeding rampantly, she might have smacked him._

_"What'd you think it'd be? A rock?" She hissed at him, and he threw his head back in laughter._

_Without looking up at her, he moved his hand away, and picked up her wand. Grabbing a corner of the sheet in which she sat on, he ripped away a large chunk and tried his best to transfigure it into a sterile bandage. It was a bit lumpy and still polka-dotted from his lack of control with someone else's wand; but, it was at least clean, and smelled of rubbing alcohol._

_She held her breath through her pained grimace as he set it against the gash, and magicked it into place. Hermione gasped out loud, and fell against his palm. Draco grunted against the sudden pressure, roughly throwing his palm nearly backwards, and leaned forward instinctively to relieve his wrist of the weight._

_They found themselves nose-to-nose, Hermione's eyes squeezed together tightly in the pain that was wracking her frail body, and Draco's eyes narrowed in an uncomfortable moment. She backed away from him slowly; her breath littering his face less and less as she pulled farther away from him. Sated that his wrist wasn't to be snapped, should she collapse against him again, Draco's blue-gray eyes washed over the rest of her exposed body, trying to see if there were any bite or claw marks._

_"So the werewolf didn't get you then?" He questioned, abandoning his attempt to see for himself._

_Hermione's hair swirled around her face lightly as she shook her head._

_Seemingly satisfied that she wouldn't turn into a werewolf and eat him, Draco nodded at her and stood up; careful to stay away from the pool of blood surrounding the large man known as Hagrid._

_A silence settled over the room, each of its living inhabitants lost in their thoughts. Hermione periodically broke the silence with a muffled groan or whimper cause by movement. They sat there for hours, until the dim light shining through the barred window melted into shadow, and from there died into the true night._

_It was then that Draco realized that something was wrong. There was something wrong with everything. Lupin had been a werewolf in broad daylight. His transformation had not been brought on by the moon. He snapped his gaze upwards towards Hermione, and voiced his thoughts. She blinked in a moment of shock, but swiftly agreed._

_"Is that even possible?" His voice came out high-pitched, and he cleared his throat._

_Hermione shook her head, "No. But... it's happened hasn't it? It must be."_

_Their conversation was killed there, as the moon itself beamed its angry gaze down upon them, and a heart stopping howl echoed through the small house. Lupin was on the prowl._

_Hermione squeaked and jumped off of the bed, ignoring the pain that prodded her once more in her chest. Draco also shot to his feet, Hermione's wand in his hand. They heard his shuffling steps, heavy, and lethargic. Well, at least they hope it was lethargic. They could outrun him if he was slowed by a full belly and a consuming sleep. Their luck ended at that thought._

_The door buckled beneath a sudden force hitting against its outside frame, and the blue line that protected them from Remus fizzled out. Draco snorted in annoyance. A second ram caused the door to dent inwards, its borders splintering beneath the angry attack. Hermione screamed in fright, and looked around for a weapon. The wand was hers, but she was injured and could not react as fast as Draco. Then again, the wand was hers, thus Draco could not perform spells as powerful and effective as she could._

_A third batter and the door fell from its hinges, lying on the ground at the werewolves paws. He only gave them a split second to prepare themselves as he growled lightly, his black lips furling upwards, a thin tendril of drool slipping out._

_Something came alive within in the pits of Draco Malfoy, something that erased his fear, calmed his quivering nerves, and steadied his heartbeat. He stepped in front of Hermione, her wand in hand, and met the beasts gaze._

_Stormy gray challenged icy blue._

_This was a fight to the death. In that single moment, there was a connection. There was no mistaking the meaning. Kill, or be killed._

_Lupin lunged, his black claws flashing in the sullen moonlight, and the very stars seemed to cheer him on as he whipped his left paw forward, swiping downwards towards Draco. The blond had begun moving as soon as he saw the werewolf's flank muscles uncoil, and was within safety by the time the wolf reached his intended mark. Hermione had shrieked, and tumbled backwards, crab-crawling her way out of the fighting arena._

_Leaping over Hagrid's shoulders, and sprinting to the door frame, Draco whipped around and roared, "REDUCTO!" The bed he'd been targeting exploded into a frothy burst of feather and linen, and Lupin was temporarily stunned. He snorted several times, trying to rid his nostrils of the annoying material that was sticking to his wet nose. Shaking his head with a final, mighty sneeze, he was free of his burden, and he hunkered down, crawling across the floor, sniffing...hunting his prey..._

_In the short time it took for Lupin to relieve himself, Draco had already vaulted over the railing of the landing, and landing four steps down the stair case. Ignoring the instant fire that shot up his Achilles tendon and wrapped its heated fingers around his ankle bone, he continued down. At the bottom he pointed his wand at an angle, back towards the roof, the floor of his room in other words. "REDUCTO!"_

_A massive hole exploded from the spells impact within the plywood and drywall that made the ceiling, and Lupin's fuzzy rear-end dropped into view as he scrambled to keep himself upstairs. His claws frantically scratched the floor, tossing down into the lower level the green rug, a pillow, and one of Draco's school books as he tried to latch on to something to hold him up._

_With a gleam in his eyes, Draco raised his wand, glancing upward just in time to see Hermione's leg appear from the wide gap in the ceiling. She was stuck on the other side of the room, unable to leave unless she jumped, or tried to get past the helpless werewolf. They made eye-contact for a brief moment, before the weakened support system of the roof began to crack, and Hermione screamed as the floor buckled, and she slid towards the gap. Lupin awaited her, his jaws wide open._

_Hermione, however, was not going to just let herself be eaten. She screamed angrily, and kicked Lupin in the face as soon as she was in range, hearing a wonderfully loud and painful yelp. Her momentum however, carried her forward, and she slid into his shoulder. Her body threw itself over his torso, and she tumbled down to the first story head-first._

_All she could do was scream, but her instincts proved more courageous then she, as if a force had overcome her being, and her hand reached out all it's own, and latched on to the fur of Remus Lupin. The werewolf screamed in agony as another one-hundred plus weight suddenly yanked on his backside. Malfoy nodded in approval that she had saved herself, but she had also ruined his killing curse shot. He ran back up the stairs, and just as his foot hit the top stairs, and he aimed Hermione's wand in the werewolf's direction, the beasts head disappeared from sight._

_Cursing his luck, and flinching at Hermione's scream and terrified high-pitched shriek as she found herself sat upon by a rather pissed off werewolf, he vaulted down the stairs four at a time, skidding to a halt at the base of the stairs. Lupin had both front paws atop her chest, and he was snarling at her, his face nearly pressed against her own. Hermione was whimpering, and her eyes began to water from the breath he emitted, breath stained with the blood of her friends._

_He threw his head back and howled for a few short seconds, pulled his mighty neck backwards, and lunged towards her throat._

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

_The blinding splash of neon green light that flooded the tiny house was mesmerizing, and both students found themselves seeing white dots behind their vision as they looked around. Hermione choked as the dead weight of a full grown werewolf squashed her into the wooden floor, and Draco rushed forward, yanking on the matted and dirty fur of the animal as he strained to remove it from her. After a few short moments, aided in his task by a splurge of adrenaline, he reached out with a shaky arm and pulled Hermione to her feet._

_Just like at Hogwarts, she found her arms around his waist, clinging to him. Her fingernails dug into his skin, clinging as sobs wracked through her body. Draco's left arm was around her neck, holding her face against his chest as she cried against him. His right arm was around her waist, trying to convey some sort of strength for her. His own tears he blinked back, this was simply too much. Even for him._

_He did not care for these people, and he had seen death before. Hell, he had caused deaths before._

_But these deaths were not magical, the corpses of the Order of the Phoenix had not simply been 'Avada Kedavra'd' to their eternal slumber; that had been chewed on, ripped into pieces, limbs missing, eyes missing, eye sockets still open, mouths still twisted in shock and agony, and the stench. It smelled everywhere of mixed blood, and the dripping of still oozing corpses. Draco couldn't stand it and he gripped Hermione to him._

_They stood there, in the middle of the Grimauld living room for what seemed like hours, losing themselves amongst the others warmth. Around them small shards of drywall crumbled, pummeling the floor as millimeter by millimeter, the ceiling collapsed. Finally summoning the courage, Draco took her hand in his left, her body still pressed against his as his arm wrapped around her back to clasp her fingers amid his own, and with his right hand, he reached for the knob of the door leading outside Number 12 Grimauld place. Before he touched however, Hermione tightened her hold against his chest, and looked up at him._

_"Thank you Draco, you saved my life."_

_He gazed at her for a while, simply staring into and at the deep brown color of her iris. Her black lashes beating every so often against each other, her small nose twitching as she continued to sniffle in the aftermath of her tears, and the delicate, soft freckles that were almost invisible except in close proximity that sprinkled across her nose and under her eyes. He was overcome with a surge of something tender, something soft. He smiled at her, a delicate smile, and bent down ever so lightly, planting a delicate kiss against her forehead._

_"Yeah well, don't get used to it."_

_Hermione laughed as she nestled her head against his chest, and together, they walked out of the house._

"Darling, are you all right?"

Hermione blinked wearily, shielding her eyes from what seemed to be a blinding light. Stirring, she felt something against her, and opened her eyes forcefully, trying to bring what lie before her into focus. It was Draco, and he was staring at her in utter confusion. She turned her head, feeling his arm slung around her neck and the other across her belly. They were in the kitchen once more, although, in quite a miraculous turn of events it seemed, no one was dead.

They shot to their feet together, a tendril of confusion snaking through her belly that she now knew was not her own. Glancing at Draco, their eyes met, and together they backed up. The heat from his backside radiated into her as they glanced about, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix each gazed at them wearily. It was Molly that had asked Hermione the question, and she was staring at Hermione in such a way that the brunette considered patting herself down to make sure nothing awkward was poking out.

"What's going on guys?"

Draco jumped visibly and nearly screamed as Remus Lupin stepped through the crowd, glancing at them both in worry. Hermione knew his intentions before he even moved, and she whipped around as he did. His right arm shot beneath her left, and she stepped into his one-armed embrace. Both of them heaved wearily as they gazed upon the man that had haunted their dream. Draco's wand was in his hand, as Hermione's was in hers, and they backed up as a single entity to the wall.

McGonagall shook her head, worry seeping through her gaze towards the frightened pair.

"Not so soon..."

It was her nearly sobbing statement that forced them to realize just what they were doing, and they sprang apart, trying desperately to recollect their thoughts and to figure out why their reaction had been of that magnitude.

"Not so soon..."


	14. A Kiss Unlike the Others

_**How to Kill a Rainbow** _

_Disclaimer: This story is entirely fan made, all publishing rights are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., etc. No profit is made from this story, outside of a little self-satisfaction._

**_A Kiss Unlike the Others_**

* * *

Hermione stared at the steam rising high above her with languid orbs, entranced like that of a cobra by the swirling, twisting mist-like gas. It sparkled and shadowed as it furled and uncurled like a ribbon on invisible currents of air, and she watched it with a dazed attention, flashes of golden sunlight streaming through her mind.

So far the solution to simply avoid one another had proven false, terrible unworthy of either one's time. They found, to their immense discomfort, that the farther apart they stayed, the more direct their shared feelings became.

The week following their first run-in with a mutual dream, Hermione was moved to Hogwarts once again to measure how much distance between them would affect their link. It had seemed a rational and well-thought out theory that physical distance would cause the magic to thin between them, thus reducing mental distance. After all, usually the imbibers of the potions were couples or at least a coven and were already close in mental awareness, whereas Draco and Hermione stood on polar opposite stand points.

Like a knife that twisted through her stomach, Hermione could tell when Draco was in the shower with water far too hot, and to his deepest disgust, Draco was more then aware of when Hermione's little red witch came to call. His hips had ached, his ribcage felt bruised, and he was just as bitchy as she was. The whole house had breathed a collective sigh of relief when the aches finally drained away, and it wasn't Hermione that caused their torment.

To reduce the intensity in which they felt one another, it seemed the opposite of rational reason was employed, and the closer they were, the less they felt connected. That found them once more holed up within the walls of Twelve Grimmauld, with naught but one another for company. The days had passed in conundrum, but relatively uneventful less then two hours before one could find Hermione staring listlessly at a trail of steam, locked away in her bedroom.

It began at dinner, when a particularly heated argument over who would be the one to wash dishes, Hermione stamping her foot and demanding more time to study, Draco sneering and huffing about, "My hands don't go into soap water with the intent to scrub anything but one another. I am not a _slave_!"

He'd pressed the point until Hermione's dark brown eyes melted into black from anger, and she thwacked him aside the head with the back of her book. Draco roared and snatched up the nearest weapon, which happened to be a plastic spatula, and promptly swatted her back. The result was a throbbing ear and watering eye on Draco's part, and three long strips of peach flesh awash in a square sea of blistering red, very sensitive skin across Hermione's cheek.

They would have progressed farther and possibly run amuck into the realm of homicide had not the morbid link between them fed from their rising emotions, and plunged them into a nightmare. In both of the young adult's opinion, though there were no werewolves here intent on devouring their supple flesh and drinking of their vital fluids, this was infinitely worse than Lupin.

They'd sunk into twin heaps of unconscious body, floating adrift on a mental link that swirled and danced around them, a prism of colors flashing as time stilled, and they transcended into a hellish realm.

Draco groaned as conscious returned to him, and he stilled his body to bring back faded thoughts. He was lying face down in a mass of stark white softness, and after a few moments he discovered they were the softest pillows he'd ever felt. Soft, deliciously soft cotton caressed his cheek as he nuzzled closer to the pillow case, and sighed deeply as his muscular arms wrapped around the girth of his plush pillow. It smelled wonderful, and he burrowed closer to inhale deeper.

He knew that smell very well, and with a smile he opened his eyes again to peek about. Less then three inches from him lay a creamy round of flesh, elongating into a slender arm and ending in long, elegant fingers. Draco's smile widened as he scooted closer and bent forward, pressing his lips against the curve of her shoulder. "Hermione, wake up love."

Her long lashes slid upwards, silky folds peeling back to reveal gentle chocolate eyes that sucked him in even when she wasn't looking at him. Her lips parted delicately, her nose twitching as morning air swirled around them, feeling as if tiny particles of dew were being sprinkled down upon them. That thought forced him to look beyond Hermione's wakening form, and his eyebrow rose in astonishment.

They were in the middle of a grain field. The luscious pallet they lay atop of, pillows and sheets, comforters strewn atop one another several layers thick hovered quite a few inches above the gently swaying grass beneath them, and Draco realized the moisture he felt was real. There was a mist in the air, not quite visible, but enough to make him aware of how delicate the situation was. The sun seemed to be on the move, it's enormous arms expanding outwards to welcome the world into a new day.

A gentle breeze blew past him and played with curls of satiny brown, long strands of glistening hair bowing across contrastingly pale, but sun-kissed cream skin. Draco's grey eyes watched it in contentment as she finally turned to him, and her lips curled upwards in a lazy smile.

"Hey you."

He smiled back and rolled onto his side, his arms opening to her. Hermione scooted over without question, sinking into his embrace with a gracefulness that was otherworldly. "Did you sleep well, love?" Draco whispered into her ear, and Hermione's voice crawled across him with a delicate richness that made him shiver as she responded, "I slept by your side, of course."

His lips found her temple in gentle reverence of the beauty in his arms, and Hermione's fingertips slid across the skin of his bicep with a touch only a woman could produce. "And you? Did you sleep well?"

He smiled down at her so lovingly her eyes began to mist over by sheer expression, "I've never enjoyed a better night's rest, except for the last time I slept next to you." Her eyes twinkled in delight as he whispered his reply. "At last were together, I have missed you so." She whispered back, and his grey eyes closed fractionally as if remembering a painful experience.

"I never meant to leave you my love; if I had known you were to be snatched away I would not have turned my back on you. Please, please believe me." She wiggled closer to him, the curve of her hip nudging the flesh of his thigh. "Of course I believe you, I know you care for me my darling. It was unavoidable, but at last we are together again and that is all that matters for the time being." She said, and he nodded his ascent.

He flexed his arms around her, pushing her closer against his chest without moving her himself, and she giggled at his antics. One slender hand came to rest at the hollow cavity where his collarbone joined, and she gazed at it through shining eyes. "My darling, would you share with me the experience of uniting?"

Draco's eyelids slid even farther down, and the corner of his lips pulled upwards at the ends, a shadow of the brilliant smile he thought of portraying. "Uniting with you, my love would only make this experience more beautiful. A fitting engagement to bring about the end of the painful time we spent apart."

Hermione smiled and slid backwards from his embrace, and the sun itself seemed to flash across her shoulders in accordance to her whim. Draco's hand flitted atop the blanket adorning her, and he gently stroked her chin before his fingers fell around the top of the cover, and pulled it away from her in one smooth, slow motion. His eyes followed the ever appearing expanse of skin the blanket revealed as he drew it away from her, his already hooded eyes lowering one last time.

The wheat grain glimmering around them, enforced by the flashing golden sunrise, played the highlights and shadows of her body like a master musician would sing his song through the chords of his harp. Her shoulder glistened as it rose in her shyness, and the shadow of her neck and collarbone lengthened to slip down the crevice between her golden breasts. The darkness all but disappeared as the light bounced off of her torso, rolling downwards across her smooth stomach, shadows only reappearing around the twin rises of her flesh that circumnavigated her bellybutton, a tiny pooch of skin that played up the gentle dip of her curvy navel.

He watched it rise and fall several times before his eyes fell again to the expanse of skin before him, and gently protruding hip bones cast soft pitches of light that drew inwards, losing them as the light disappeared into a soft pinch of curly brown hair. Her hip continued without his gaze, a soft curve that sharpened around the twin dents of her knee, and flared again as they stretched onwards until a sharp roll pronounced her delicate ankles, and ended in sweetly curved toes. The only scrap of material on her body was a delicate silver ankle bracelet that flashed at him.

Hermione watched him as he slowly drew his gaze upwards, just as slowly as it had gone down, until he met her eyes. As he looked, she let her own shadowed eyes catch the reflection of light that shimmered throughout his blonde hair, and the way his eyes seemed to be pools of molten silver in the glittering sun. His shoulders were broad, framed by soft strands of shoulder-length hair that whispered across his skin by the playful breeze.

His pectorals clenched inwards as he huddled at her side, still staring down the contour of her body. Muscular arms that rolled softly, not bulging, lay before him, brushing her skin with feather-light touches. His stomach was not bumpy with muscle, but smooth and hard.

A long, linear concave that began shallowly and ended in a round, perfect little dip in his skin drew her gaze, and she smiled endearingly at his belly. Powerful, thick hips of the purest alabaster skin, deeply seated in the coils of well defined muscle rippled away from his hidden genitals.

She watched them seep into a smoothly crested knee and onwards down a thick calf muscle that ended in thick ankles and elongated into feet as elegant as her own.

She smiled up at him as they made eye contact, each awed by the physical beauty of their partner. His arm lifted upward, fingertips brushing across her thighs and skittering up her belly and breasts with a quiet laugh as she shivered frantically. "Make love to me, Draco." She whispered to him, and he could only gaze at her in respondent love.

He pulled himself upwards, sitting at her side now with his legs folded beneath him. His hand trailed upwards again, tracing the line of her cheek and brow, down her nose, across her lips, and then he swooped down like a magnificent white bird of prey, claiming her delicate pink lips for his own.

She moaned into his kiss, her hands coming up from her sides to caress the sides of his face as he moved against her, his lips molding against her own with a slow, gentle pressure. She sighed delicately as he withdrew for a brief moment to plant a single, reverent kiss to her jaw line, and returned to her waiting lips.

"I would be most happy to." He whispered to her before he claimed her again.

His hands roamed upwards into her silky threads, rolling his fingers through the exquisitely soft tresses. The wind around them sent loose ends gently upwards, thin, free bangles of curl brushing against her forehead with such a gentle caress she half wondered if the wind was going to love her too.

Draco's eyes fell shut completely as that image burned into his memory, and he sunk himself in the warmth she offered him. He responded with precision when he felt a gentle nudge at his lips, and broke them apart to allow her exploration. She ran the tip of her tongue across his swollen mouth, savoring the taste of him as her hands slid across the powerful discs of his shoulder blades.

He returned the gentle probing with a childlike curiosity, flicking his tongue across hers and withdrawing as she hunted for him. They chased one another for some time before he fell away again, and trailed a stream of tiny kissed around the contour of her lips, across the line of one eyebrow, and a steady trail of them across both eyelids, closed in her wonder.

He smiled softly at her before he slid down, his lips closing around the muscle lining her throat, her shoulder jerking as his teeth grazed the skin.

"_Oh_." She cried out softly, her fingers tightening marginally across his back.

Her fingers drove upwards, curling in his thick strands of honey blonde as he caressed her throat with his mouth, singing his praise through gentle nips and loving stripes of his tongue.

She breathed throatily, moaning as he switched sides and bathed her entirely in loving presses. The moisture in the air was at their side, collecting into a tiny pool in the hollow of her collarbone, and Draco lapped at it as if it were a precious life-sustaining substance, vital to his survival for the day. Hermione sighed breathlessly as his hands drifted from her hair, and his fingers found purchase at her arms.

"So _soft_, so _feminine_, so_ perfect_." He whispered, admiring her body that she offered so freely to him. He felt on top of the world at that moment, able to achieve anything with this woman by his side.

His cheek swept across the field of her skin, thin, baby soft strands of hair tickling her chest as his tongue peeked from between his lips, and he drew soft, winding circles around one of her nipples. They obeyed his slow command, hardening slowly until he was close enough to make her shudder with his every breath, so tantalizing close to the sensitive circle.

"_Oh_, Draco."

His full lips descended around one delicate pink ring, a soft tug of his teeth drawing her into his mouth. Hermione gasped aloud as he yanked gently, her back arching from their soft pallet and into his waiting hands. Draco's fingers splayed across her back, holding her at an angle away from the pillows and sheets, the thin water in the air bringing her already over-sensitized breasts into a tingling new reality.

She shuddered in his arms, tiny gasps escaping her throat as her head fell back, and Draco could not resist the temptation to suck at the beautiful cream skin lining her throat one more time. A hoarse whimper broke free of her partially parted lips, and he ducked down once more to claim the other, yet untouched pink circle as his own. Hermione pressed into him as he circled her flesh with the tip of his tongue, teasing it. Her hands gripped his tresses as he consented to her unspoken request, and he nipped at it softly.

His hands held her firmly as the muscles in his arms flexed, lowering her gently back down to the layer of cotton beneath them as his lips found her ribcage, delighted that she squirmed so softly beneath him as he trailed kisses down the center of her torso. She arched again, exposing the smooth curve of her bottom ribs that melted quickly into the smooth, flat plane of her belly.

He licked and kissed, nibbled and caressed his way across her upper stomach, pausing to tease her bellybutton with a few quick dips. She sucked in a gust of cold air through her teeth as he fell lower stiller, and his lips pushed against the swell of her hip bone with a gentle nudge. She squirmed again, sighing breathlessly as he proved over and over again just how much he loved her. Hermione whimpered, her fingers still clutching his hair as he slid sideways and expressed himself to her other hip. His tongue meandered down the curve of her thigh and he gently lifted one leg upwards, kissing the underside of her leg until he reach the bend of her knee.

He nipped the skin with a soft tickle of teeth, and Hermione gasped aloud at the sensitive skin and its reaction to his fondles. He smiled at her lazily, relishing the bright, glittering haze that returned his affections swirling in her eyes. His lips pressed against her again, his head falling backwards as her leg retracted upwards, and he kissed her ankle with a slow, soft, sensuous mirage of letters and pictures. His mouth caressed the gentle fall of her foot, and he planted one small peck of affection across the top of each of her toes before he slid back up.

"_My love_, my love…_stay with me forever_…"

Time spent away from her lips drew him in, and she reigned in his hailing kisses like the lover he'd always dreamed of. Her mouth plundered his, her body quivering in his hands from the copious amounts of affection he'd just lavished her in. Hermione's hands slid across his shoulders, fingertips running down his muscular chest and the warmth of them perking his own lightly color-dusted nubs.

"As long as you want me…_always_…"

Her lips found purchase just below his jaw, wrapping in such a gentle, loving manner around the bump of his Adams Apple. Draco shuddered against her, and she slid down his body, her hands sliding down his pale skin in much the same way he'd lathered her in. She, unlike him, didn't give his chest a special detail; instead she slid around him, her long legs flashing in subdued golden hues as she curled against his frame, and pressed her lips to his shoulders.

He watched in dazed wonderment as her fingers slid up his torso while her lips lathered kisses and affection across the expanse of his muscle that lined his shoulder, and farther down. Her tongue traced the outline of his shoulder blades, twice over as they protruded out and sucked inwards with each movement he made in response to her. She rubbed her fingers in tiny circles across his belly, coming to stop just inwards of his hips.

"Always…_always_ I'll want you with me…"

Draco groaned as she slid down, and watched her fingers dance so dreamily across his thigh. She massaged his taught muscles until he was a puddle of goo in her fingers, so relaxed and content with the worship his beloved threw at him. Her lips kissed sparkling affection at his ankles while her fingers rubbed wear from his feet, and her tongue whispered promises while her hands drew from him the strain of his back and stomach.

He smiled at her as she pushed against him, and he understood without asking. He slid himself sideways as she slipped off of the covers they rested upon, ducking down and sliding through the wheat with a dance like grace to her walk. Her hands slid up the front of his legs as she appeared on the other side, a twinkle in her eyes as she stood between his two pale legs, a creamy delight in the golden sun.

"_My darling_…"

He reached out to her, and she fell into his embrace, her toes stirring up light patches of soil. The earth felt cool to her feet, revitalizing her warm and fuzzy body with a new experience. Draco's hands roamed over her back as their lips met again, his head tilted down to meet the new angle.

Hermione leaned over the side of the floating mash of blankets and pillows, Draco's legs dangling around hers, pulling her into him as he kissed her softly. His fingers fell across the curve of her back, and around the soft, round plumps of her rear. She giggled softly as he squeezed lightly, and lifted her from the cool earth beneath her heels against him again.

"I can't live without you…" His voice broke, but he paid it no heed.

Her legs folded beneath her as she slid upwards and inwards, straddling his legs with her own. His hands stayed cupped around her bottom, their lips remaining intertwined. She shook above him, and a tiny gasp escaped her lips as his hardness pressed against her belly. He growled quietly when she straightened her thighs, pulling herself onto her knees, towering above her sitting companion.

"And I…_I need you_." At once he knew she had answered the passion in his call with her own when a single tear slipped down her cheek, unchecked.

She smiled at him and swept down with her shoulders and head, planting a kiss to his temple as her hair swung around them like a curtain of silk. Her hand reached out tentatively and took him between her fingers with a gentle stroke upwards, eliciting a gentle _woosh_ of air from his lungs at the feeling. His fingers slid inwards, around the supple curve of her cheeks and along the narrow corridor of her thighs, heat searing his fingertips as he pulled her legs towards him, separating them as she neared.

"I need you too, my darling. _More than you know_…"

She lowered herself gently, and Draco's eyes opened completely as hers closed, pinching slightly when the tip of his manhood pressed against her, building a pressure. She worried her bottom lip, and Draco distracted her with a firm kiss against one breast, startling her into momentarily forgetting the uncomfortable press.

That single moment was enough for him to shift a fraction of an inch and slide himself inwards, ever so slowly sheathing himself in intense heat. Hermione gasped as his fingers returned to her rear, gripping her with a new strength he had not yet exhibited. She jerked against him, her hair bouncing across her shoulders and her head falling back as she relaxed, her muscles loosening around him.

Draco planted another kiss against her breast, accompanying it with another stripe of his tongue. She slid downwards, pressing against him and he pressed into her until she was seated atop him completely. He groaned into her shoulder as her knees spread away from him, and her hands came to rest on his shoulders. With a gentle swaying, like the waves of the ocean on the calmest of days, she rose with the muscles of her thighs accompanied by the grip of his strong and able hands, and fell again.

"_I love you."_

The rhythm to their love making never changed, and the golden sun was much higher in its position when her throaty moans turned into small, frantic clips of sound and his fingers, so gentle in their practice, squeezed harder then before. His stomach swelled and caved in as he breathed, breathing in quick gulps of air as she whimpered above him. He watched the smooth rise and fall of her breasts turn slowly into a more frantic pace, though only slightly.

A sheen of sweat appeared across her creamy skin, and Draco's grey eyes fell shut as a dizzying wave of love for his partner assaulted his mind, his cheeks flaring in heat as he watched her stomach and breasts rise up and fall again. Hermione gripped his shoulders tightly, trying her best to restrain from sinking her fingertips into his shoulders and causing him unnecessary pain.

She panted in soft, girlish breaths that made his eyes close and his head swim, and he pressed deeper into her. It swelled through her stomach like a tight coil, winding round and round until she was sure there was no more room in her belly for such a blinding heat. Draco's fair hair glistened with exertion induced sweat, flopping upwards and falling downwards as he began to move up with her.

"My love, _oh_…my _love_…"

She had just enough time to capture a glance at his face, framed by blonde strands of hair that glinted so richly in the golden light behind him it made her heart twist in wonder that this was the partner she had been so blessed to find. His beautiful eyes, staring up at her in a haze of wonder and love, that delicate nose that was working to keep air in his lungs, and the softly parted lips that heaved with his every move, she framed it all deep within her mind.

"_Draco_." Her soft whisper erupted between her lips.

She felt a burst of overflowing love in her heart as the coil caught her, and it's maelstrom of unwinding thread flooded through her. Her head fell forwards, the rest of her body following. He caught her in his arms just before his own mind erupted in a white hot daze of pleasure that stripped him of his name and memories and left him floating about somewhere most people called Heaven.

When he recovered she was lying atop him, her back rising and falling as her stomach pressed against his own, gentle curls of brown and red intermingling together in the light of the rising sun, spilling around them like a cascade of ornaments.

"_My love_."

He whispered to her sleeping form, pulling her upwards so she was face to face with him, and pulling her closer so that he might wrap his arms around her form, protecting her from anything that may try to steal her away again. He could not survive another spell spent away from the woman he loved; he needed her near him to function.

They simply couldn't be apart again, and when they were together, magic fell from the very air. She sighed prettily against him, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well, Hermione."

He'd fallen into the wonderful, sweet clutches of sleep himself not long after. The breeze lulled him into peaceful rest, the soft humming chime of wind blowing through long stalks of golden grain singing him into slumber.

They'd awoke to a frantic Harry Potter, and a sweating Molly Weasley standing over them with cool wash clothes and a horde of already applied fever-breaking item littering between them. Hermione flushed so deeply and tears sprang to her eyes so quickly she bolted from beneath the covers around her, hugging herself around the waist as she ran up the stairs.

That left Draco to deal with the stares, and the questions. He answered them all in a single go.

"I just had the most magical, romantic, passionate sex on the face of the earth. And I had to _share_ it with _her_." His face was curiously blank as he lifted himself from the couch he'd been laying on, toting the ragged blanket that had been draped across his shoulders with him as he walked up the stairs in Hermione's footsteps.

That found Hermione staring into the tendrils of smoke that lifted from her conjured cuppa, not quite as captivated by the allure of the smoke as she was sifting through memories of one of the most beautiful experiences of her life.

It wasn't until Draco was locked behind the door and confident that he was safe did he drop the hole-infested blanket and blinked down at the raging hard-on he'd been hiding.

"Bugger."

* * *

A/N: Wtf? An update?! I come bearing peace offerings of pretty smex?


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